


But in Battalions

by Lillian_Shepherd



Series: But in Battalions [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M, M/M, Marvel Cinematic Universe Phase One Compliant, More characters to be added., Not A Fix-It, Work In Progress, borderline explicit, canon character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 187,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian_Shepherd/pseuds/Lillian_Shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of Manhattan, with their enemies defeated, the Avengers have scattered. Only Tony Stark remains in New York, playing his own part in dealing with the consequences.</p><p>Steve Rogers has been searching for an America that no longer exists.  His return to the East Coast will also have unexpected consequences.</p><p>But formidable forces are moving to use or destroy members of the Avengers, and Tony's plans for his technology have panicked industry, government and other, more secretive, players...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fallen Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> MCU and canon compliant (at least, with nothing that actually contradicts what is seen on screen, so I am taking no more note of tie-in comics than the films do) until the end of 'The Avengers' (Phase 1) but very much AU from there, and totally divergent from Phase 2 and Phase 3. Also divergent from our own world in many things, as, of course, is the MCU!
> 
> Ameri-picked and beta'd by Ellex. With many thanks.
> 
> Later chapters will contain some material originally Ameri-picked and beta'd by Lisa Roquin, to whom also many thanks.
> 
> However, British spelling throughout!
> 
> I don't normally post Works in Progress, so this is something of an experiment. This story contains unpublished material originally written for the cap_ironman Big Bang on LJ but is not the same story that that would have been.

"Need some help there, honeybear?" 

The steel-coloured War Machine armour, caught in the act of trying to raise the last few links of the articulated tail of a Chitauri troop carrier from their resting place on top of three yellow cabs, a truck and the remains of the store window taken out by the tip, jerked sideways. The tail swayed dramatically, then began to fall. 

Iron Man dived forward, sliding on one knee, repulsor rays shooting from his left gauntlet to strike the War Machine on the chest, blasting the suit from under the path of the falling tail and instantly taking its place. The repulsor in Iron Man's right palm glowed sun-bright, blindingly bright, and the tail's fall halted, just an inch or so from the gauntlet. Iron Man brought up the other hand and carefully rose to his feet, balancing the tail on the repulsors. 

Carefully, he shifted position until the tail was over tarmac and within reach of the work crew with their lasers and mobile cranes. 

"Everyone get back. I'm gonna drop it now," Iron Man's electronically distorted voice boomed. He shot backwards, the repulsors blinking out and the tail dropped, denting the pavement. 

War Machine was upright. "What the hell was that about, Tony?" its speakers bellowed. 

Tony Stark grinned behind the Iron Man faceplate. Plainly, Rhodey had not expected him. Which was odd, as he was well known to have remained in New York after the Battle of Manhattan, and Rhodey must guess that Jarvis kept a GPS eye on the War Machine's location. 

Unexpectedly, a good five seconds after it had fallen, the tail bounced. 

Instantly, every weapon the War Machine possessed – and there were a lot of them – was levelled at it. 

Though he had only controlled his own reaction with the greatest difficulty, Tony applauded, gauntlets ringing against each other. "You're jumpy, Mr Grumpy." 

Ignoring Tony's banter with the ease of long practice, War Machine leaped over the now quiescent tail to join Iron Man. "Is that thing still alive?" 

"It's problematic whether it ever was really alive at all," Tony said, "but if it was, it, like the Chitauri themselves, died or deactivated when I blew their station or ship or whatever it was to its component atoms. Or when the Black Widow closed the portal. I wasn't timing it." Couldn't, actually, as he'd been unconscious at the time. 

"Figures. But, hey, man, I've been wanting to talk to you. That was a great idea to call up that missile and steer it through the portal," Rhodes said, "but it was also a helluva risk, buddy." 

"I had a Hulk," Tony joked, but he wasn't smiling any longer. 

Because that was how SHIELD was playing this now. Of course, the World Security Council, the governments they represented and therefore, presumably, SHIELD wouldn't want anyone to know they'd been ready and willing to nuke New York. 

Just how much would the information that they had done so be weighed against the safety of his fellow Avengers? 

"That doesn't look like the armour you were using in the battle," Rhodes observed. 

"It isn't. That was the Mark VII, most powerful armour I've built. I laid out the schematics the moment I heard about the Tesseract." 

"Tesseract?" There was an eagerness in Rhodey's voice that told Tony that he ought to have watched his tongue. 

"Piece of Asgardian tech. What all this—" Tony waved an expansive hand at the cityscape, "— was about." 

"Asgardian? I know you were calling the guy with the hammer 'Thor' but—" 

"He calls himself Thor Odinson, the hammer is called Mjolnir, and he has the powers of the Norse god. He says he comes from Asgard. After what he did, I'm not arguing." 

Rhodey pulled off the War Machine helmet and stared at Tony, wide-eyed. "I know you aren't religious, buddy, but that's pretty damn close to blasphemy." 

Tony opened the faceplate in response so that Rhodes couldn't mistake his sincerity. "Captain America accepts he's really Thor and he's as much of a believer as you are, Rhodey, perhaps even more so." 

That didn't have the effect on his friend that Tony had anticipated. "And that's another thing: this new version of Captain America." 

"What about Cap?" 

"I'd've thought you of all people— I mean there's disrespect and there's _disrespect_ and your father—" 

"Working with Captain America is a family tradition, right?" Tony replied lightly. 

It shocked Rhodes into nearly a minute's silence. Finally, he said, trying for innocence and not quite succeeding, "This means that someone has perfected the super-soldier serum, right?" 

Raising the faceplate had been a mistake, Tony realised, as he struggled to keep his expression neutral. There had been a lot of speculation about Captain America but very little of it suggesting that he was the original, Steve Rogers, frozen in the ice for seventy years, unaging, undreaming, unchanged. 

And Tony, for one, had been doing all he could to encourage that attitude because the fewer people who knew that truth, the better. 

Of course, Cap's words to Loki in Stuttgart had been reported: 

_Y'know, the last time I was in Germany, and saw one man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing._

But matched against the impossibility of Captain America's survival, and the huge gap since his disappearance, the words meant little. It was assumed that this was some sort of con by the nebulous 'authorities' behind the Avengers. 

But, there was a downside and Rhodey had just voiced it; that the military and the politicians would assume that Erskine's formula had been re-created, heralding a new army of super-soldiers to do their bidding. Apparently they'd forgotten that Steve Rogers hadn't been all that amenable to orders from above. And wasn't now. 

Tony said, "I know nothing about that, Rhodey, and that's the truth. Meanwhile—" 

"That was real impressive, Stark." The speaker, a short but powerful man in Airman Battle Uniform with Colonel's insignia and RED HORSE patches, was stomping towards them with a determined expression. "An' it confirms that you have just what we need. Introduce us, Rhodes." 

"Tony, this is Colonel Velasco. He's heading up the military engineering teams." 

"We're here to help with the clean-up and rebuilding," Velasco explained, "and Colonel Rhodes here has been assigned to help." 

"Sure." Tony rose into the air and shaded his eyes with a gauntleted hand, peering along the troop carrier's spines. 

"What are you looking for?" Rhodes demanded. 

"The flag. What else? I take it you've laid claim to this one on behalf of the Air Force? Or is the Joint Chiefs?" Tony was well aware of the three way quarrel between the Mayor, SHIELD and the US Military as to who should take possession of the Chitauri technology that had lying around Manhattan, immovable, for the past month as the clean-up and building crews worked around them. 

"No flag, just slapped some stickers on it: property of the USAF," the engineer replied promptly, disconcerting Tony, who had come to the conclusion that Rhodey's sense of humour was pretty much unique amongst middle to higher rank military. 

"Well," he shot back, "you can argue possession with the Mayor and SHIELD, if you can shout loud enough to be noticed." 

"Nah. I'll just leave that to the top brass," Velasco said. "But I wanted to meet you anyways, Stark. No, not about offensive weapons – that isn't my responsibility – but about adapting your repulsor technology to move heavy loads for the engineering crews. Comes as near to anti-gravity as anything I've seen. And that demo just now makes it seem you've gotten full control of it." 

Tony frowned at him. "Velasco? As in Velasco and Gorey on _The Practicalities of the Space Elevator using monofilaments_?" 

Velasco nodded. 

"Well, you have good ideas. Get SAF/AQ to commission Stark Industries to produce—" " 

"I tried," Velasco said, with a wry grimace. "But since they backed the wrong horse with Hammer they're smarting so much they don't want anything to do with Stark Industries, even just paying for patent rights. And there's stuff that ain't in the patents. Isn't there?" 

Tony grinned. He was, reluctantly, beginning to like Velasco. 

"So, you're supposed to be the engineering genius, Stark, and I guess you are. You also claim to be a patriot. Will you construct gear to help us move this – damn it, I refuse to call them 'space dragons'?"

"Troop carriers," Tony said. "You know, Colonel, you're the first person who has bothered to ask for my help and you've put forward a decent idea of your own. Once I figure out the detail and get it built, you'll be the first to know." 

"Second," a crisp female voice said from behind them. "You report to SHIELD, Stark, and don't forget it." 

The three men turned to face the slender, dark haired woman, who stood with her hand resting lightly on her holstered handgun even though she had a dozen black-clad SHIELD agents at her back. 

Tony grinned at her. "Only during consulting hours, Deputy Director Hill." 

"Those have just been extended," Hill retorted. 

"If so, my fees have just tripled. No, make that quadrupled. Oh, now, wait a second, you haven't actually paid me for the last couple of years, so I guess that's constructive discharge." 

"You aren't an employee, Stark." 

"Then I don't have to tell you anything. Except out of the goodness of my heart. That's when someone does something because of compassion, Hill. I know Fury doesn't acknowledge compassion exists, but—" 

"Stop babbling, Stark. Colonels, I'm sorry, but I need to talk to Mr Stark privately." 

"In that case, let's go somewhere private." Iron Man grabbed Hill around her waist and shot skywards. 

To his surprise and not a little admiration, she didn't even squeak, and the SHIELD agents were far too well trained to shoot the Deputy Director. 

Landing neatly on the roof of a nearby building, they leaned on the parapet, watching military and civilian workmen swarm around the silvery bulk of the downed Chitauri troop carrier. 

Tony opened the faceplate of the armour again. "When is Coulson's funeral?" he asked. "Or memorial service. Whatever?" 

Hill sighed. "Not decided yet." 

"What's the delay?" 

"We've been busy, Stark, or hadn't you noticed? Fury ordered an autopsy, but that was delayed by an influx of bodies, human and alien. We want to do him justice. Are you asking for an invitation?" 

"He was a friend," Tony said. "Not just mine, but Pepper's too. He was stupid, to tackle Loki alone, but yes, dammit, I need to be there, if only as a representative of the Avengers." 

Hill sighed. "Are _you_ going to tell us where your team-mates are?" 

"Not even if I knew." 

Hill shook her head at him. "Stark, Banner is immensely dangerous, Rogers is suffering from PTSD, grief and culture shock, Barton needs medical help after being screwed over by Loki and Romanoff requires just a small shove to turn back into the amoral killer she was before Barton recruited her. Director Fury thinks you'll all come back when you're needed, but how sane any of you will be is another matter." 

Tony grinned at her, showing all his teeth. "Maybe the world needs insane. Who am I to judge? I never had a chance to be normal." 

"The price of genius? Don't give me that, Stark. But Fury's willing to let the disappearance of the other Avengers ride, for the moment." 

"Sure." That had, Tony suspected, more to do with the disappearance of all the data on the members of the Avengers from SHIELD's files than the Director's benevolence. Tony only wished he'd been there when the technicians told him what had happened. Jarvis had reported the systems shut down and rebooted. However, that only made it easier to wipe selected data from the backups themselves, and SHIELD's private cloud space. 

Hill's dark eyes fixed on his face. "But that's not why Fury asked me to talk to you. That's more about these... space-dragons—" 

"I think of them more as turtles," Tony told her. Then, unable to resist teasing her, "Descendents of the Great A'tuin." 

"Well," Hill said, with total composure, "I suppose there are comparisons between New York and Anhk-Morpork, but I see a distinct lack of wizards here, Stark. Unless that's how several of these things came to vanish." She put her head on one side and eyed him dangerously. "Director Fury wondered if you could ... explain ... that." 

"Vanish?" Tony raised an eyebrow. "Aren't they a bit big to be looted? I know half the locals have grabbed guns or those air-sleds as souvenirs and I suspect there are dead Chitauri bodies in quite a few freezers. If you need to track any of those down I'd look on e-Bay. Mind you, I wouldn't put anything past—" 

"Vanished," Hill repeated, interrupting his babble. "Three of them. Not a trace. One went that first night after the battle, the other two yesterday." 

"Past your security?" 

"Past our security. We didn't even realise the first one was gone until we reviewed the news footage of the battle but the last two just went missing overnight. The CCTV cameras show them there at midnight and gone at five minutes past." 

"Teleportation?" Tony suggested. "Or maybe they just disintegrated. Could be a failsafe mechanism. It's what I'd've done if there was a possibility another race might get their hands on them." 

"They why haven't all of them disintegrated? At least that would solve the problem of every organisation in the US and every country in the world wanting a piece of them." Hill sounded wistful. 

Tony shrugged. "You got me." 

Hill sighed. "I don't know why Fury thought you'd give me anything. You going to give me a lift down?" 

"Only if you give me your word that Pepper and I will be invited to Coulson's funeral." 

 

Tony by-passed Pepper's protesting PA and swung lazily into her office. "Hi, Pep," he greeted, kissing the top of her strawberry-blonde head. 

"Not now, Tony." 

"Is that any way for the CEO to treat the Chairman, I ask you, Pepper? Particularly as he comes bearing specifications that are going please the board and earn us lots of lucrative contracts and even appease the military." 

Pepper pushed back her chair, crossed her legs to show off both their length and her latest pair of designer high-heels, and raised perfectly plucked eyebrows. Tony considered the heels entirely unfair. The very highest enabled her to look down at him. Damn it, she was nearly his height in flats. 

"Jimmy Choo again?" he asked, plucking out a name at random. 

"Charlotte Olympia – and I'm waiting to hear about this miracle. You haven't promised me one of those since ... oh, about midnight last night." 

"At midnight?" Tony was puzzled, but then memory returned. "Oh, that." He smirked. 

"Don't suppose for one moment that buys you any favours." 

"These might." Tony put a pile of printouts and a thumb drive carefully on Pepper's desk. "Production specs for the repulsor lifting gear. You just attach an even number of units to the sides of whatever you want to move. They've got a linked limited AI. No doubt the design department will want to add bells and whistles, which will leave you plenty of time to get the factory in Seattle to tool up, for marketing to put together a dog and pony show, and for you to start discreet negotiations with the military but I need you to hold back on the latter for at least a month." 

Pepper looked dubious. "Just how long have you been working on this?" she asked, poking at the printouts with a perfectly manicured finger tipped with polish that exactly matched her shoes. 

"Oh, a while," Tony said airily. "Just got the prototypes working." 

"Just?" 

"You really don't want to know, Pep. Really. Sealed lips, huh?" He leaned across the desk and kissed her soundly. 

"Tony, behave yourself!" she admonished him, as soon as she was released. However, she had kissed back with enthusiasm, so he ignored the protest. 

"That was on account," he told her. "See you tonight, babe." 

Pepper picked up the thumb drive. "I have to work late," she said, staring at it pointedly. 

"I'll be in the workshop when you get in," Tony told her, heading for the door. No doubt she would get the story - well, his part of the story - out of him in bed that night, which was really the whole point of keeping it from her right now. Having someone to whom he could tell everything was the most wonderful aspect of his relationship with Pepper. 

 

Tony threw himself in the chair, swung round three times just for the hell of it, and instructed Jarvis to get Bruce Banner on the secure video-link. 

"Hi, Bruce, how's it going?" he asked, when his friend's image appeared. "Pleased with your presents?" 

"Presents? Your word choice is, as so often, questionable, Tony." 

"I aim to please." 

"But don't always succeed," Bruce retorted. "Do you have any word on the others?" 

Tony didn't pretend not to know what he meant. "I know where they are. Approximately. Always assuming that Thor is still in Asgard." 

"It's been less than a month." Bruce shook his head. "I'm not concerned with Thor, and Natasha and Barton will look after each other, but I'm worried about Steve. I was used to being on my own, but he—" 

"Oh, yeah," Tony interrupted, "how are you getting on with your new roomies? Have they settled in?" 

Bruce attempted to look fierce. "I'm not sure I'm ever going to forgive you for that, Stark." 

"Oh, come on, you need someone with a strong bio background right now. And Hank Pym—" 

"I get on fine with Hank; we've been friends for years. As you knew, of course. And Betty vouches for Jan." 

"I've known Jan a good deal longer than I've known Hank," Tony said reminiscently. "She was my special agent in mischief when I was sixteen and she was six. No one ever suspected her." 

"That does not fill me with confidence, Tony. I would have preferred to be asked if I wanted to share my lab space with a prickly biochemist and his graduate student-girlfriend."

"You would have said 'no' and you would have been wrong." 

"Anyhow, Hank says to tell you that he thinks the Chitauri and their semi-organic tech are silicon-based, or he would think that if it were possible for silicon-based organic compounds to exist in Earth temperature ranges." 

"And you think?" 

"That Hank and Jan and I are going to have to rework the whole of organic chemistry." 

Tony's expression was suddenly serious. "And you'd better do it quickly." 

Bruce's was suspicious. "Why? What do you know I don't?" 

"Someone has been removing downed Chitauri troop carriers. Under SHIELD's nose." 

Bruce chuckled. "You mean someone other than you?"

"Of course I mean someone other than me," Tony said, with dignity. "What's more, unlike me, they didn't do it the first night when SHIELD had so much on its plate. They did it when the whole area was under close guard." 

"We've got rivals?" 

"Damn right we have." 

Bruce frowned. "I thought you'd fried the internal circuits or nervous system of whatever those things had. Hank thinks nervous system, by the way." 

"I did. The first night when SHIELD had too much on its plate to keep track of something so big and inert that no one was likely to make off with it. Or believed that there were any nerves to fry. I don't think anyone's going to get anything much out of the Chitauri tech except us—" 

"What makes you think 'we' are?" Bruce asked, but he was beginning to smile. 

"My trust in your genius. And Hank's. And, most of all, mine." 

"I remember the last time you flattered me, Tony. Unlike you, I learn from my experience. So don't hold your breath. Give my love to Pepper. Ciao." 

The image vanished 

Tony slumped, rubbing his hands over his face. For a moment there he had felt that all the profound exhilaration of working with the Avengers again. But now it was gone, and all the weight of the changed situation lay on him. Because he had sent them away. For their own good. 

SHIELD would make a bad enemy. He rather thought that that was what he had made it, though Fury was a known quantity and one with which he could deal. As for the military, he had years of experience of negotiation with them and the government and to fall back on. But this new threat, if it was a threat, worried him. It worried him even more that he should have anticipated it and hadn't.

"Jarvis," he said, "you found any footage that throws light on Grand Theft A'tuin?"

"Not so far, sir. Either the surveillance cameras were tampered with, or the Chitauri troop carriers just disappeared."

"Or disintegrated." But Tony didn't believe it. His luck was never that good. "Okay, Jarvis, by tonight I want our own twenty-four hour camera surveillance on all the downed Chitauri troop carriers."

"Just so, sir. Do you also wish me to close the stable door?"

"I think it's already locked and barred."


	2. Nighted Colours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony might have known that, with SHIELD in charge, Coulson's funeral and sort-of wake would not go entirely to plan - at least for him.

Whatever Tony might have secretly hoped, it was plain that Thor didn't know the date and place of Coulson's funeral, or Odin had forbidden his participation in something that did not include a burning ship or Valkyries thundering over a battlefield. If he had been around he could have provided thunder and lightning or at least a gloomy overcast sky, but instead the sun was bright against Captain America blue with only a few high-flying cirrus and the odd contrail for contrast. It might have made the mass of almost identically black clad people listening with professionally blank expressions to the preacher standing above the lily-smothered coffin a tad less surreal.

At least it justified the universal sunglasses.

Tony wasn't listening to the preacher, who was having to compete with some irreverent unidentified (at least by Tony) birds. Instead, he was trying to locate Pepper, who had taken on the task of looking after Coulson's ex-girlfriend, the cellist from Portland who was, not surprisingly, wide-eyed and somewhat overwhelmed by the attendees at his funeral. The gravestones in this particular DC cemetery might also have given her food for thought, as might the black granite memorial with the SHIELD logo and an engraving of the helicarrier beneath it. Coulson's name appeared there, along with all the others who had died in its defence, whether buried here or not.

Tony knew his own name could easily have been engraved there too. Though, of course, as a consultant he might not have qualified.

Black wasn't really Pepper's colour, particularly with her bright hair tucked away beneath an equally black hat that shaded her face. Even the blouse under the designer jacket of her skirt suit was steel grey. He wondered if she would have been so conventional at his own funeral or if she would have followed the instructions in his will and worn red and gold.

As it was, she'd insisted on a pristine white shirt to go with his black hand-tailored suit and he hadn't even been able to sneak a coloured tie past her eagle eye. Tony had searched the internet and gotten hold of one in blue with little Captain America shields scattered across it. He'd thought it appropriate, that Coulson would have appreciated it, but Pepper had nixed it the instant she saw it.

And she was, standing with Fury on one side and Diane, the ex-girlfriend cellist, on the other, hands folded discreetly, apparently listening to every word that fell from the priest's lips. There were a lot of them.

Tony sighed, and wished Pepper hadn't also confiscated the slim silver flask that normally lay flat in his pocket, the jacket tailored to hide even that small bulge.

As if by magic, a hand appeared from behind his right shoulder, offering a small cup full of liquid that gleamed amber and teased at Tony's nostrils. He took it without a word noting, as he did so, that, though the hand was gnarled with arthritis and covered in brown age spots, it was as steady as a rock. He was not surprised when, on turning, he found himself looking into a weather-battered and heavily lined face with clear gray eyes under an Army hat. The out of date dress uniform was now a little too large, but it bore a first sergeant's chevrons and an impressive array of ribbons.

The sergeant raised his own pewter cup in a half-ironic salute. "Can't make up their darn minds if this is a military funeral or a PR exercise," he growled. "Phil wouldn't've wanted a fuss, but he'd be honoured to have you here, Mr Stark."

Tony grinned and took a sip of the excellent Bourbon. "He would probably have tasered me, but the Avengers owe him. Not that we were close, but the two Avengers who knew him better than anyone and the one he was trying to save can't be here, so I guess I'm it – the team rep, whatever. Are you family?"

"He was my grandson."

Tony lifted the cup to join in the small toast. "I'm honoured to meet you. Phil was a..." He paused, thinking back to his conversation with Captain America on the helicarrier. They had both been right, but Cap's verdict was the only one appropriate here, to a generous relative. "He was a good man. He died trying to save one of us."

"Did he? Save him? Or her?"

Tony hesitated, wondering whether to lie, and saw the other man's expression grow bleak. He said, "All the Avengers made it to the battle. Not sure we would have done it without him."

The sergeant tossed the rest of the liquor down his throat. "There's somethin' been buggin' me," he said, in an entirely different tone. "Phil, now, he grew up on stories of Captain America, most of which he got from me."

"You knew Cap?" Tony asked, surprise in his voice.

"Uhuh. But I was General Chester Phillips's driver for a while. He used to talk a lot about him. Guess your father did too."

"Oh yes," Tony said grimly, but he was thinking how his experience had been very different from this man's – and Coulson's apparently.

"Well, this new Captain America... I just don't see how Phil could have stood for the name and uniform being reused."

Tony had almost dropped the ball once on this one and he wasn't about to make that mistake again. "Phil's duty meant a great deal to him," he returned, voice and expression as bland as he could make them. "He saw what – and who – was needed to get the job done." For the first time he looked at the man beside him with suspicion. He had no evidence that this man was who he said he was, but even if he was legit...

Who would I send to lower my guard, to pump me about the Avengers?

He smiled his best public persona smile. "Stop by at Stark Tower some time and I'll repay you for this lifesaver with even better booze and a long conversation. Right now, though, I have to rescue my CEO from Fury's clutches." He downed the rest of the Bourbon and handed the cup back to the sergeant. "Ciao." 

 

Tony was none too sure how Pepper had gotten herself invited to the post-funeral SHIELD wake – well, not a proper wake, of course, given the absence of Coulson's body, but it served the same purpose. For that matter he wasn't sure how he had come to be invited himself, but he rarely turned down free booze and certainly not booze that Fury was going to have to finagle out of SHIELD's budget.

However, he was just pleasantly buzzed when she appeared at his elbow, her glare dislodging the half dozen field agents (and boy, did Fury pick 'em for their looks or what?) who had been listening to him with gratifying attention. The hand gripping his arm tightened alarmingly when he resisted her pull towards the door. Next, no doubt, it would be the stiletto on his foot, though why she thought crippling him would make him walk faster defied normal logic...

"Happy's waiting for us outside with the limo," Pepper told him.

"Well, goody for him. He's paid to wait, and paid damn well. In fact, as I pay him—"

"I need you out of here before you proposition Maria or punch Fury. Or vice versa."

"Why, Pep, I thought my eyepatch fetish was a secret even from you."

"None of your fetishes are secret from me, Tony."

"Umm. Good?" Pepper was prettier than any of the SHIELD agents anyway, and he had better booze in the limo. "Maybe we can indulge a few. Tonight."

Pepper laughed and kissed him just behind the ear, which was really promising because she knew how much of a turn-on that was for him. So he stopped resisting and clattered down the stairs beside her, through the foyer and into the night, where the limo was parked, undoubtedly illegally.

As they started towards it, mental alarms began blaring through the pleasant alcoholic haze. There was something wrong about Happy's position in the front seat, about the fact that he was not already out of the car with the passenger door open for them

Tony stopped dead. "Pep, fuck it, I've left my phone in the men's room. We'll have to go back."

"No, you haven't." Pepper slapped his left hand pocket. "You just don't want to leave the booze and broads—"

"Run!" he snarled, pushing her back towards the doors because he couldn't leave Happy like this and—

Blackness fell over him. He could hear nothing, see nothing, even though he was still yelling at Pepper. 

Then she grabbed him – but no, it wasn't Pepper, it was someone – two someones – bigger and stronger than Pepper, possibly taller than Cap and almost as tall as Thor, who had grabbed his arms from behind and were holding him erect, holding him helpless.

A mask was clamped over his mouth, and he smelled something sweet and exotic. He held his breath as long as he could, but finally he had to gasp in a lungful of air plus something else, something he was damn sure wasn't good for him.

He tried to cough it away, but he could feel his consciousness distancing itself from the reality of the hands and the blackness.

The mask was pulled away. For the first time someone spoke, a deep, strong voice with an unidentifiable accent. "We need just one piece of information from you, Stark."

Tony gritted his teeth, fighting the nausea and dizziness, trying to forget the mechanics of the ARC reactor and the Iron Man armour, the specs of its weaponry, to forget the name of the town where Cap had last accessed his bank account, the co-ordinates of the lab in Oklahoma, his speculation about Bart—

"Who is supplying you with illicit vibranium?"

Vibranium?

"Vibranium?" he was astonished to hear his own voice, and reached desperately for control. If he couldn't stop himself talking maybe he could nudge himself into his habitual diversionary tactics. "Rumour has it that's the stuff my father used to create Captain America's shield but I've never laid hands on the stuff—"

But his mind had already jumped to another conclusion. 

I thought Dad had created a new element, but suppose he had analysed it instead? I really need a good look at Cap's shield.

"Possibly they called it by another name," the deep voice said calmly. "Nevertheless, your 'clean energy' technology is powered by it, and you have not been sold any from the legitimate source."

Oho. _The_ legitimate source. Not 'a' source. This guy thinks he has a monopoly. It'll be one in the eye for him if I can persuade the patent office to let me claim it and not just the process.

Even as he was thinking that, his voice said: "The element that powers the ARC reactors was—"

"Sourced from here in the USA," Pepper's voice interrupted him, rising on a note of near desperation.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She hadn't run fast enough. If she had run at all.

"That is not true. There is no USA source."

He's calling Pepper a liar, Tony thought. I should be angry. Why am I not angry? Oh, the drug... But this is interesting. They haven't dosed her then. They're underestimating Pep. That is so dangerous.

"The source is in California," he said.

"Tony!" Pepper sounded outraged.

"Who sold it to you?"

"It wasn't sold to me." Truth.

"Did you steal it?"

"No. Why would you think I need to steal, well, anything at all?"

There was a moment's silence then the voice asked, "Who gave it to you then?"

This was starting to be fun. "My father."

Someone said something urgently in a language Tony did not understand or recognise, though it sounded a little like Swahili.

There was a sharp command in what was probably the same language in reply, and then the voice demanded, in English, "Mr Stark, how did you obtain the vibranium you are using right now."

"I made it—"

He was interrupted by another sharp but unintelligible warning, then the imprisoning hands let him go and, without their support, he fell to his knees in the darkness, feeling the rough concrete of the sidewalk under his hands.

He took a breath of clean air. Two. Three. Then it wasn't darkness, or silence. Instead there was the glare of streetlights, the mellow glow of the reception lights through the glass doors and the gleam of car headlamps, plus the sound of running feet.

Half a dozen SHIELD agents, guns out and flashlights waving, were past him before he had managed to get to his feet, a process not helped by Pepper clutching at him, asking again and again if he was all right.

He cast a careful look over her to make sure she was unhurt, then turned towards the limo. Its driver had not moved. "Happy..."

Together, he and Pepper ran towards it. Beating her there by virtue of not wearing high heels, he flung open the driver's door and reached for the neck of the man slumped against the wheel. The pulse was strong against his fingers and he let out a sigh of relief. "He's okay. I'd never have forgiven myself if he'd been hurt."

Pepper was staring at him with an odd expression and, oh, fuck it, the truth gas or whatever it was must still be affecting him, and had he said that aloud?

"Yes," Pepper said. "You did."

"We need to get Happy to a doctor. I'll shift him into the back and you can drive."

"I've been drinking too, Tony." Pepper turned and called out to the SHIELD agents who were still pouring down the steps. "We need a medic here!"

A tall figure detached itself from the main group of SHIELD agents and began striding towards them, cell pressed to his ear.

Fury. Oh, shit. He would undoubtedly provide them with someone to drive them back to their hotel, and, equally undoubtedly, take as much advantage of Tony's current lack of control as he could. There were far too many secrets the Director would love to know.

He could call Jarvis and ask him to send the Mark 8A, but it would take several minutes to get to Washington from New York. But maybe Happy had disobeyed orders once again...

Tony dived for the trunk, laying his fingertips against almost-invisible sensors. The trunk sprang open and there it was, the case containing the lightweight version of the armour. It couldn't provide the protection or the weaponry of newer suits, but it had repulsors and a link to Jarvis and Tony had practiced donning it so often now that it would take him less than a minute.

And (Ooh God, Pepper, I love you) Pepper had, without being asked, anticipated him and intercepted Fury.

Keeping low behind the car, Tony secured the chest and back plates, slid his hands into the gauntlets, and stepped into the boots. Next was the helmet... 

"Tony! Stop!" That was Pepper. Which meant that she could no longer distract Fury. "You promised me you'd never fly the armour while drunk!" She was trying to mask the resignation in her voice with anger, but it didn't quite come off.

"Stark!" Now that was Fury. "Stand down! We have this under control."

But Tony was now ready to repel boarders. With Jarvis protesting in his ear, he held up his left hand, palm outwards, and even Fury paused at the sight of the soft glow of a repulsor powering up.

Ten seconds more and the final pieces of armour were in place. Tony threw the case into the trunk, slammed it shut, and rose up into the night sky.

"Sir," Jarvis said, "your blood alcohol level is—"

"Yeah, yeah. We just need to find the bad guys."

"Bad guys, sir?"

"At least three of them. They grabbed us just now and interrogated me with a rather effective truth gas. And they have serious tech, Jay. Some sort of stealth device that absorbs light and sound or maybe bends it. They fled when SHIELD arrived in quantity and armed to the teeth, so monitor SHIELD channels to find out if they're still in hot pursuit. The bad guys can't be more than a few hundred yards away."

There was less than five seconds pause, then Jarvis said, "They appear to have lost them, but are still searching, sir."

"O-kay. Look out for body heat signatures as I sweep the area. These are big guys, Jay."

"Sir, this area of Washington has a concentrated night life, and the District of Columbia's crime rate is approximately three times the national average."

"Just get on it. Also look for high-energy signatures or, even better, energy dead areas. They may be using their cloaking device, or whatever it is."

Blessing Washington's restriction on building height, Tony spiralled outwards, keeping to about a hundred and fifty feet above the streets and rooftops. There were all too many people glowing cheerfully on the streets below him but even the SHIELD agents had seemed to have stopped running.

"The MPDC have been alerted by SHIELD and put up roadblocks, sir."

"Somehow I doubt that's going to work," Tony observed grimly. Then, and it was a sign of how the drug – and maybe the alcohol – was still affecting him that he had been so slow to connect the voices with where he was, he said, "Shit, I'm an idiot. Jarvis, these people spoke a language that sounded vaguely East African. Let's check the area round those diplomatic missions."

"Sir, you cannot violate diplomatic immunity."

"Scanning isn't violating anything. At least, not if it's undetectable. Let's do it. And start breaking through their firewalls. Mentions of 'vibranium' or, of course, me." 

"Yes, sir," Jarvis acknowledged, a sigh in his voice. 

However, during the next hour they turned up precisely nothing, so when Jarvis said, "Ms Potts is trying to contact you, sir," Tony was bored enough to welcome the lecture he suspected was coming.

"Hi, Pep. Where's Happy?"

To his surprise, it was Happy's voice that answered. "I'm fine, boss. I'm sorry. I was just sitting in the limo watching for anyone who might ticket me, an' suddenly I couldn't see nothing or hear nothing. Then I guess I must've passed out."

"Not your fault. They got us too."

"So Pepper said. Betcha you're glad I brought the suitcase armour. Not so obsolete after all. What can we do to help?"

"You can take Pepper back to the hotel, Hap."

"I'm not allowing Happy to drive," Pepper said firmly. "Director Fury is providing us with transport, so, unless you've actually located your attackers, you can head back here right now. SHIELD wants to debrief you."

"Aw, Pep, the only one I want to de-brief me is you."

"Really, Tony, this is not the time!" Pepper sounded exasperated.

"Too bad. Thanks for the warning. I'll see you back in Manhattan." He killed the line with the flick of an eyelid.

"Okay, Jarvis, let's go home."

 

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets and stared moodily over a landscape that was as strange to him as any he had seen in the twenty-four years he had been awake. Evening was closing in, mercifully shrinking the vastness of sky and fields down to a more human scale, though the setting sun touched the blades of the ridiculously tall windmills – wind powered turbines, apparently – blood red as they turned relentlessly.

Clean energy, but a kind that changed the landscape irreparably. Steve wondered if Tony Stark's work would make these engineering masterpieces obsolete.

New York had been disorientating and difficult in its mixture of familiarity and strangeness, so he had come west looking for an America more in tune with his memories, and found kindness and hospitality and suspicion and patriotism and faith. Yet each was so often tainted with an idea of America that he did not want to recognise; of ignorance, of prejudice, of fear and, God help him, a hatred of foreigners, of immigrants, of the Federal government... 

He shivered in the cold wind

It wasn't just the farms as big as a county run by half a dozen people, the deserted towns, the closed schools, the insularity of those who remained, but the feeling that the very heart of America was slowly dying.

It was not the right place for him to stop feeling so alone, so lost in this new century.

West would take him even deeper into this type of country, with California, that he didn't understand, beyond. North was still cold. He feared the cold, feared falling back into sleep never to wake again.

South... South lay Oklahoma, more land like this, but it was also where Bruce was located and, tempting as it was to join him, to build on a tentative friendship to replace at least one of those he had lost, he knew he must not put him in danger.

And there had been times, recently, when his old instincts had started to stir, to suggest that there was something trailing him in the shadows.

He was exposed here.

He needed to go back east, maybe not to New York, but to the cities he at least partly understood.

Though it would not be going home. He could never do that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Ellex for spotting my mistakes (and appreciating my jokes!)


	3. Turning Gears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a lot of things move, sometimes rather too quickly... and too many people are taking an interest in Tony's tech.

Tony watched with apparent indifference as Velasco's team of RED HORSE engineers attached the small boxes with their faintly glowing undersides to the scales of the fallen Chitauri troop carrier. The Colonel himself was looking on with a much more interested and critical eye, with Hill beside him, though both seemed uneasy with the arrangement as well as with the crowds who had come to see the fun. Probably neither wished to appear on You-Tube.

Even the Mayor had arrived in the hope of seeing one of the huge obstructions moved from his streets, and with the Mayor had come half the city's financial notables and the full panoply of the media. Happily for Tony, Pepper was dealing with him and them right now.

Tony smiled at the press from behind his custom-made sunglasses as Jarvis helpfully displayed their names and employers on the inside of the lenses. Though Jarvis could also talk to him, the head-up-display was in some ways less distracting and definitely less detectable from outside.

Rhodey, in full War Machine armour, was standing ready to assist if something went wrong – he had, he had said, seen Tony's prototypes in operation before, thank you.

Which was distinctly unfair. If there had been any chance of an accident Tony would not have allowed Pepper to arrange for it to take place in the full glare of publicity, and he would have been suited up himself.

He shook his head slightly. He'd seen very little of Rhodey over the past couple of weeks, despite both of them being in New York. Okay, he had been busy with the political and economic fallout from both the Battle of Manhattan and with ensuring that his clean energy products not only worked but hit the market in the immediately foreseeable future, but his best friend might have made time to call.

Was Rhodey angry because he had not been invited onto the Avengers?

But that hadn't been Tony's decision.

Or because he hadn't offered to upgrade the War Machine? Rhodey must have seen the level of weaponry that had taken down more than one of the huge alien machines that he couldn't even move...

Well, if he wanted upgrading, he should ask. He had, after all, stolen the War Machine armour in the first place.

And nothing was going to go wrong. Repulsor technology was Tony's own invention and, unlike the ARC reactor, had nothing of his father in it. Combining the two had originally produced the Iron Man armour, but since then he had done little else with the concept. Perhaps that was because he had always thought of the repulsors as military tech and was concentrating on clean technology as the main money-earner for the future. 

Besides, there had been the threats from Obie and Hammer, his own technology's attempts to kill him, and finally Loki and the Chitauri—

Excuses. The combined technology had as much potential to change the world, benefit mankind and make him an even greater fortune than the ARC reactors alone. He should have seen that long ago.

Remembering his father's idea for flying cars, he smiled to himself. He could do it... but he was in enough trouble with government agencies as it was. Better leave that one for a more auspicious time.

"Okay, Jarvis," he whispered, the nano-microphone against his throat picking up the words. "Let's show 'em what we can do, just the way we discussed."

The repulsors glowed brighter. Slowly, the giant alien structure lifted up from the pavement. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of its original descent from the Tesseract-created portal.

The last time he had done this, it had been with far more sophisticated repulsor lift units, not these pseudo-prototypes—

"Very nice, Stark," Nick Fury's deep voice commented, close to his ear. "But we could have done with it months ago. Why decide to release it now?"

"It's a brand new prototype," Tony said, unsurprised by the Director's arrival, "and not even my idea. Colonel Velasco suggested it."

"You know, that's odd," Fury said, looking hard at the glowing repulsors as the massive alien war machine edged along Madison Avenue, its sides only a couple of feet away from the right hand skyscrapers. "Because the night after the battle, people up in Connecticut reported a series of lights in the sky, and the shadow of something very big moving across the stars."

As far as Tony recalled it had clouded over around midnight, but some of that cloud had been thin. However, he was surprised that even one person had been neither asleep nor parked in front of their television screens. "Anyone see a boy on a bicycle too? Everyone was as jumpy as hell that night. I'm surprised they didn't see everything from the Four Horsemen to the Millennium Falcon."

Fury ignored him, his one eye still fixed on the Chitauri transport. "There's an airfield up in New Hampshire. Almost completely disused now. Parts of it are polluted, which makes it unsuitable for building. But you know this because you own it. Your Grandfather built airships in a hangar that's still the largest in civilian hands on US soil." 

"If I know all this already, you'd better get to your point, because I'm bored with this conversation."

"That hangar's just about big enough to hide one of these." Fury waved a hand at tail spikes passing in front of him.

"Is it? Hiding one?" Tony asked, with interest. "Go on, Nick, you must've checked."

"We did, once we finally got the reports and made the connection; the hangar's empty now. But the locals report a helicopter landing at that field five days after the Avengers took down the Chitauri, and maybe thirty six hours before we arrived. Which was so unusual as to merit their attention. The copter took off again about an hour after that."

"You suspect someone flew one of these out on a helicopter? What are you smoking? Because that weed must pack a helluva kick."

Now Fury turned to face him. "How the fuck did you do it, Stark?"

Tony spread his hands wide. "Director, you know every move I made the day of the battle. But you can also have my word that I didn't load a Chitauri troop carrier onto a helicopter."

It pleased him immensely that he had told Fury the exact truth and even more that the SHIELD Director was backing off towards Hill, though was probably because Pepper was leading the Mayor and his entourage in their direction.

Tony sighed, stretched out his hand, and prepared to accept both thanks and criticism.

 

The hologram turned slowly in the air in front of him, each rotation building another layer of detail, until it became recognisable as a helmet, though with far more appendages than Tony considered feasible, including a spectacular pair of antennae. Inside, it was packed with electronics which controlled a tiny but sophisticated chemical factory as well as some things even Tony did not understand, though he knew he could construct them.

He didn't need to guess what it was meant to do, though, and it had nothing to do with Dr Henry Pym's work on the Chitauri tech.

"Hank's experiments started because he's obsessed with trying to communicate with ants," Janet van Dyne had said, those months ago, over dinner in an exclusive Manhattan restaurant that was now rubble. 

"And you're obsessed with Hank."

Jan had kicked him under the table. "I think it has something to do with his dead wife."

"I didn't even know he was a widower," Tony had replied, surreptitiously rubbing his ankle.

"Nor did I, until recently." Jan had leaned closer. "Tony, I'm worried. Hank's on the verge of an incredible breakthrough, but I'm sure he's in danger. We need your help..."

Incredible had been right. It had been Hank's experimental particles that had shrunk the giant Chitauri machine to something they could load into the back of a helicopter. And his lab at Culver had been ransacked only hours after he and Jan had moved their equipment to a Stark facility.

Tony hoped the Oklahoma one was safer, even with Bruce there. He also hoped that when Hank finally got to try the particles on living things he wouldn't use anything larger than a rat. A miniature Hulk didn't bear thinking about, much as he would enjoy teasing Bruce about it.

"What's that?" Pepper asked, startling him so much he spun with his right hand up as if to blast her with the repulsors he wasn't wearing. Hurriedly, he turned the gesture into one of pushing aside the lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead while his left hand hovered over the sensor that would kill the display.

Damn, he hadn't heard her approach. But if he switched the hologram off now it would make Pepper even more curious – and this particular secret wasn't his to divulge.

"A design a friend asked me to look over," he said lightly. "I owe him a few favours and he's a biochemist, not an engineer." 

"So it's not part of the Iron Man armour?"

"You think I'd go flying around in _that_? I have more fashion sense. Besides, the aerodynamics are crap."

Pepper stared at it for a moment, then plainly dismissed it as unimportant. "We're running into trouble with some of the overseas Stark Energy subsidiaries you asked me to set up," she told him briskly. "There's more than one government saying they won't allow us in except in partnership. They want access to the ARC tech."

"Yes, I expected that – they'll have taken a look at Dad's patent and found out it isn't commercial without my upgrades, which aren't patented because I need to keep them out of anyone else's hands, at least for the moment. Point out to them that if they won't accept our terms there are other countries that will."

"Tony," Pepper said, in that patient voice that meant she thought she was the only one in the room talking sense, "I think we should keep the manufacturing arm here in the States—"

"No. The only way we'll keep things moving and penetrating worldwide markets is to take manufacturing worldwide and _soon_."

"We'll be making a lot of enemies here at home.”.

"Precisely, but if we wait for politicians to do what's right for the long term but damaging in the short term we'll wait forever." 

"I hope you're not going to tell that to your meeting tomorrow. Or the Board—"

"Oh, c'mon Pep. We can—"

"Sir," Jarvis interrupted, "there is a concentrated and highly sophisticated attempt to access SI's and your personal computers in progress."

"Is it SHIELD again?" Tony demanded, hands clenching. Coulson's arrival in the Tower had seen his systems by-passed once too often, and now the Tower was as secure as he and Jarvis could make it. Which meant, he hoped, that it was one of the most secure places on the face of the Earth.

"No, sir. SHIELD were apparently satisfied on their access of the dummy database. They do not appear to harbour any suspicions that it is not what it seems. "

Tony doubted that. Which meant that they probably had other methods of keeping track of him and his tech. However, if Jarvis thought this incursion merited his attention it could not be one of the professional and amateur hackers continually hammering (pun intended) at his electronic doors.

"But," Jarvis was continuing, "from the sophistication of their approach and their specific targets—"

Tony interrupted him:"What targets?"

"In this case, sir, anything connected with the new Seattle installation."

It was Pepper's turn to look alarmed. "Our test site for manufacturing ARC reactors?"

"Just so, Ms Potts. But if I have identified them correctly, this is their second attempt to access our data, and their previous targets were SI shipping documents and accounts—"

"Have you traced their origins?" Tony asked.

"Not in the Americas, sir, or Europe.

Tony was now thinking very quickly indeed. "They're not wiping or corrupting any data?"

"No, sir."

Tony took a deep breath, and made a decision he hoped he wouldn't regret. "Jarvis, make them aware that we know of their presence. Let them see the purchasing documents they were looking for and point them at those that show the amount of Palladium we've ordered. Also the initial specs – not the detail, just the outline – of the scaled up prismatic accelerators for the manufacture of – well, I guess we'd better stop calling it starkium or unobtainium or what-the-hellium so – vibranium. Let them see all our orders pertaining to it and our initial costings." 

"Are you crazy?" Pepper demanded.

"Yes. I thought you knew that. It's a risk, but I'm thinking that manufacturing that element costs a fortune, but that there must have been a natural source available to my father and that, if we're totally honest, it might become available to us."

He'd been through the records, developing new muscles and a hacking cough amid the boxes in his father's archives. Material from the wartime period was scanty and contained none of the specific engineering or scientific data he had been looking for.

God, he really needed to examine Cap's shield. Vibranium steel – his father had said that in his hearing. His interrogators had said the ARC reactor was fuelled by vibranium and talked as if they had access to a natural source. It all added together, but would these people talk to him? At the very least, if they were satisfied he was manufacturing vibranium rather than buying it from an illegitimate source they might leave him alone.

"They're gone," Jarvis said, "but they left a message for you."

"A message, eh? Well, what does it say?"

Jarvis's voice changed, becoming deeper, but distorted: "Mr Stark: Our sincere apologies. Your expertise is admirable. We are hopeful we will be able to say the same about your motives. Until then, remember we'll be watching."

"Well, damn you too," Tony snapped, though he knew whoever-it-was could not hear him. Still, at least it had distracted Pepper from the display, which he now killed with a flick of his fingers. "Now, about these subsidiaries..."

 

When Tony had decided that privatising World Peace wasn't enough to atone for Stark Industries sixty-odd years of arming the governments of the world and their more unsavoury agencies, and that providing clean energy for everyone at minimal cost would more than compensate for the actions of his father and himself, he had not foreseen that the personal cost would be being harangued by politicians and businessmen alike. The vested interests now were running scared of the miniaturised ARC reactors or wanted a slice of the pie.

He was still Chairman of the Board. Pepper didn't want that job and, as Natasha had pointed out (or the legal Department had advised her), corporate governance was far better if the jobs were split so the Chairman could do his assigned job of keeping watch on the CEO. Keeping a watch on Pepper, as often as possible, was no hardship. Recent events, which had resulted in Government investigators crawling over some of the biggest firms in the country where the jobs were still combined, had confirmed that advice. Tony definitely wanted the Chairmanship out of the hands of any of the other members of the sometimes (often) hostile Board, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, that explained his presence in someone else's board room, surrounded by politicians and company Presidents and Chairmen who were all spouting arguments in which "manage the transition" and "share technology" and "give the United States a major bargaining advantage" were repeated _ad nauseam_. 

Tony had no intention of giving an inch to any of them, though they made his palms itch for the repulsors.

So when his cell warbled the theme tune from _Jeeves and Wooster_ he reached for it in relief, with only a mumbled "excuse me" before he picked up. "Yes, Jarvis?"

"There is a call on from the local police frequency about the e-StarkStore in White Plains that perhaps you should hear, sir." Jarvis did not wait for acknowledgement, because the voice changed to that of a woman, rough and urgent, plainly scared and trying to control it, with the sound of gunfire behind. "— wholesale destruction – probably a terrorist attack — Oh my God, the things are running wild! There's blood and limbs everywhere. That one cut right through— We're retreating. Guns are useless. Repeat, guns are useless. They cut right through Kevlar—" The voice cut off, then came through again. "Sir! You can't go in there—"

"Call the armour," Tony ordered as, ignoring the Energy Secretary, the Head of Roxxon Oil and the Miner's Union Secretary, all of whom were trying to stop and question him, he ploughed his way out of the door.

"Already on its way, sir," Jarvis's calm voice informed him.

"I'll be on the street when it arrives." Then he was running.

 

As he came out of the doors, with security in pursuit because he had hurdled the barriers and not handed in his temporary pass, the armour – the Mark VIIA – was waiting for him, gleaming red and gold in the sunlight, surrounded by its own admiring crowd with their phones raised in photographic worship. Tony spread his arms wide and it assembled around him, though he had to lift his feet in turn for the boots.

Moments later, he was in the air, jetting North East, just above the tallest of the skyscrapers, Long Island Sound glinting away to his right.

Even if he hadn't known where the store was, he would have immediately spotted the location from the chaos outside, with police cars (bearing city, county and state insignia) and ambulances parked haphazardly across the pavement, and a NYPD SWAT team running in from where their truck had been parked several hundred yards away in the honking and completely stationary traffic.

Iron Man landed lightly on the sidewalk just behind a plainly shaken security guard who was explaining to the cops that, "He held them off me with a shield. I didn't believe in Captain America an' he wasn't in uniform but it couldn't have been anyone—"

Tony didn't wait to hear the rest of it. He shot forward into the foyer, a foot or so above the ground – and stopped, hovering in mid-air.

He needed to do that, because the floor was pooled with blood, in which lay bodies and limbs and, Christ, a severed head—

And the air was full of _things_ that flashed like metal and buzzed like insects and that ... that were flying _through_ the glass and marble and metal, dissecting the floor and the displays and counters.

The HUD was going crazy in its attempt to track the threats.

"Jarvis, shields on full power." Even as he spoke Tony was throwing up his hands, palms outward, repulsors flaring, spinning in mid-air as he tried to counter all of the incoming saws? cutters? dissectors?

"Sir, analysis indicates the blades are monofilaments and charged—"

One of them hit his shields and power flared, almost blinding him. The HUD display blinked.

"Power down to sixty percent," Jarvis reported.

Fuck it, at that rate his shields would be useless if a couple more hits and they were coming all at once. He'd never stop all of the—

A much larger, much slower-spinning disk flashed behind him on the HUD, but that wasn't a threat and the tiny, seemingly unstoppable buzz saws bounced off it.

"Don't let them touch you, Iron Man!"

The man who had just caught the shield on the rebound wore a pair of old blue jeans, now soaked in blood, and a leather jacket open over what had been a white T-shirt, but Tony would have recognised him anywhere. No one else moved with such combined speed and power.

He didn't even have to think about it.

Trapped without cover, knowing he couldn't cover all three hundred and sixty degrees, he skittered backwards on the boot-jets, still fending off the things with his repulsors, until Steve Rogers – Captain America – was in position at his back, batting away the incoming spinning blades with his shield in a continuous fireworks display. That was only to be expected: according to his father the shield was probably capable of repelling an atomic blast.

"Hi, Cap," Tony said. "We have to stop meeting like this."

Ignoring the attempt at banter, the other man said, urgently, "They're all concentrating on you."

Yeah. Stuff that could disable his shields and cut his armour to ribbons – in an eStarkStore. Concentrate on what Cap – Steve – needed to know. "The edges of the blades are only a molecule or so thick. That's—"

"Sharp enough to cut anything – except my shield."

"And charged. Don't dare let them hit my shields again. Still recharging." A trap for him, which Cap would have already worked out. No use telling him to use that advantage to leave, though. He said, "Nothing outside – except cops. Power source must be in here somewhere. Is anyone here still alive?"

"Except us? I don't think so," Cap suddenly reached out and diverted a blade inches from Tony's arm as it came in from the side. "We need to get out of here. Can you fly?"

"Jarvis?"

"Power levels now at eighty per cent and stabilising, sir."

"Yes," Tony said, answering Steve's question. "Up?"

"Use these things to our advantage. You ready?

"Ready."

"Let's do it."

Tony brought his hands down, angling the repulsors not just to repel the blades but to change their flight path. Behind him, he knew without watching the HUD display that Steve had done the same with his shield.

Every single flying blade bounced upwards, cutting into the roof, sending steel and concrete crashing down. By that time, Tony had grabbed Cap round the waist with one arm and rocketed roofwards, leaving it to Jarvis to find a weak point, if not a gap. Cap held on tightly to Tony's shoulders with one arm while raising the shield protect them with the other as Tony's free hand blasted any remaining roof away.

They rocketed up into the sky as the building collapsed below them.

Hovering at five hundred feet, Iron Man and Captain America surveyed the wreckage, watching as the SWAT team poked, with apparent impunity, at the jumble of stone, concrete, steel and glass. 

There was no sign of a single whirring flying monofilament blade and the Iron Man HUD showed nothing.

"Looks like their power source is dead—" Tony began, when suddenly, Captain America's grip on the armour's shoulder-plate slackened, and Tony had to clutch him with both hands to stop him falling, then drop sharply to catch the shield as it slipped out of his hand.

"Fuck it, give me some warning if you— Steve?" The other man was limp in his grip. "Dear God, did those things get you?" Stupid question. Plainly they had. "I'll get you to hospital—"

With what was apparently an effort, the blond head lifted to look up into the glowing sensors of the Iron Man faceplate. "No. Be all right." It was little more than a whisper. "Heal fast. Fine in... couple hours. SHIELD..." His eyes closed and he made an attempt to shake his head. Tony could now see where the back of his leather jacket had been sliced across, edges stained crimson. Beneath it, he could see blood welling up from a cut that went deep into flesh.

Missed his spine. Christ, it must have been close.

But he couldn't let Cap fall into anyone else's hands.

Tony took off in the direction of Stark Tower, everything else forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd, Ameri-picked and encouraged by the excellent Ellex.
> 
> Last section originally Ameri-picked by Lisa Roquin.
> 
> Many thanks to both.


	4. Past and Future Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each time Steve regained consciousness, he was not alone...

He was so, so cold. One hand grasping steel that froze him even through the glove, the other reaching, reaching. The world was black and white and grey, and Bucky was falling, oh so painfully slowly, into the black, bottomless abyss, his face turned up to Steve, blue eyes – the only touch of colour there was – wide and accusing... 

His own arm, reaching for his best friend, seemed to stretch out to infinity and still not reach, still not touch him. 

"Bucky!" he screamed or moaned or whimpered. "No, no, no, no..." 

Then, suddenly, his hand was caught in a warm grasp. There was weight tugging at him. A voice he _knew_ but couldn't name, said, "You've got him, Captain. He's okay now. You've got him." 

Steve hauled on the hand, pulling Bucky up towards him, and pain lanced so hard into his back that he had to bite back a scream... 

There was no weight. The abyss was gone. So were the wind and the snow and the thunder of the train. He couldn't see Bucky, couldn't see anything, but both his hands were now being held, and he lay face downwards, on something soft. 

"Ease up there, Cap. It's all right now." 

He shuddered and lay still, cold and shaking, letting Bucky's hands slip from his. 

Another voice – male, English, but not Falsworth – said, "Did he hurt you, sir?" 

"No bones broken," the unknown, familiar voice replied. "He wouldn't hurt Barnes, even in an emergency." 

"If you say so, sir." 

"Dad was quite clear about how close he was to Sergeant Barnes and how good at controlling his strength. What about his vital signs?" 

"Heart rate falling, sir, and his temperature is still a several degrees above normal, if I presumed to know what is normal for him. He is, however, close to consciousness." 

Dream, Steve thought. Dream voices. So they needn't be recognisable, needn't make sense. 

Fingers probed tentatively at the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse, then circled on his skin, a reassuring touch. "Go back to sleep, Cap," the American voice said gently. "It's okay. We've got you. Everyone's safe. Sleep now." 

He trusted that voice, trusted it would keep Bucky safe, would keep him safe too. 

This time, the dark abyss was warm and he fell into it easily, into easier dreams. 

 

Steve woke in a strange bed in a darkened room. 

He was lying on his front, propped up on pillows so he could breathe normally – but pain ripped across his back with every breath. 

Where the hell was he? 

He shoved himself up on his elbows, and gasped as the pain went from ache to agony. 

"Please lie still, Captain," a polite, educated, English voice said. "I have informed Mr Stark that you are awake." 

With those words, memory came flooding back: riding through White Plains on his way to Yonkers, the police sirens, the screaming, parking the bike at the edge of chaos, snatching up his shield and running to help, the flying blades slicing heads and limbs, nothing – flesh and bone and granite and concrete and steel – slowing them down, one youth cut in half in front of his eyes. He'd used his shield to fend them away, the vibranium steel alloy proving effective in a way nothing else had done, to help those few survivors out of the building. Going back inside had been a mistake, and he'd thought he might not get out again. Just in time, Iron Man had arrived and the team forged in repelling attacks by renegades, aliens and gods was immediately in place. 

It had felt like waking up from the ice. Again. Only this time with someone he knew there to greet him. 

He remembered telling Iron Man that he didn't need a doctor or a hospital, that he would recover within hours – an exaggeration, but Stark didn't need to know that – but not much else. 

Presumably he was in Stark Tower. 

Carefully, he climbed out of bed and onto his two feet, clutching the headboard as the huge room began a slow spin. 

"Rogers, what are you doing out of bed?" Tony Stark, dressed in black slacks and a filthy Stark Industries T-shirt, was standing in the doorway, looking stern. It was not an expression that sat well on him. 

"I have to go. Those things could destroy the tower," Steve said, trying to conceal that he was still holding on to the headboard. He had a feeling there was something wrong with his logic, but couldn't work out what. 

"Undoubtedly, but it wasn't you they were after, Cap. That trap was meant for me. So you being here isn't gonna make a difference." Tony was somehow now beside him with a hand on his shoulder, though he didn't try to push. Steve could almost see him making the calculation: this is Captain America. I can't manhandle him. Better try words instead. "You saved me yesterday, Cap. The least I can do is offer you sanctuary for a while. Now, come on, back to bed. Please, because if you fall over I'm going to need to change into the armour to lift you." 

"I'll be okay," Steve insisted, not understanding himself why he was so reluctant to show weakness in front of Tony Stark. "I heal fast." 

"You lost a lot of blood. That odd metabolism of yours is probably the only reason you're still alive," Stark told him. "Well, that and how close we were to the Tower, and my flying speed, naturally, not to mention the sealant I've been playing with that I used to close that wound and stop the bleeding. Half an inch closer and it would have sliced into your spine. Add a few upward inches to that and you might have been de-Cap-itated and would you for fuck's sake lie down before you fall down and I have to go get the suit to move you

In the circumstances, there seemed to be nothing he could do but obey, letting Tony ease him back onto the bed. "Dehydration," Tony muttered, as if he were checking a mental list. "Water, water... Jarvis?" 

"Cooled drinking water in the bathroom, sir," the disembodied voice replied, with the very faintest air of exasperation. 

"Got it." Stark disappeared through a door into what was, presumably, a bathroom (and when did every bedroom get its own bathroom?) and came back a minute or so later, with a tumbler full of water in one hand and a packet of some pills, probably painkillers, in the other.

"Thanks." The water was balm to his throat. He knew better than to gulp it down, but the temptation was strong. 

Stark offered him the painkillers, but he shook his head. "Don't work on me. I just have to tough it out." 

"That sucks," Tony responded "Hey, steady with the water. You want another?" 

Steve nodded and handed over the glass. 

But he was asleep before Tony had returned with the refill. 

 

When Steve woke again he was feeling much better; well enough to get out of bed without falling over and make his way into the bathroom before his bladder decided that, super-soldier serum or not, it was going to have to release or burst. 

That having been taken care of, he felt able to take notice of his surroundings. The bathroom was bigger than the main room of the apartment he and his mother had lived in before the war... before she'd died... before everything changed. It was white and black, with touches of scarlet, which appealed to his sense of form and colour, and looked almost more futuristic than the Helicarrier control room. The shower stall, for instance – well, he presumed it was a shower stall and he really, really wanted a shower right now – was bare of any sort of controls, and he couldn't even see the shower heads, unless they were the tiny metal objects buried in the tiles. 

The sense that he was, he really, really was in the future and unable to return home hit him again, and he sat down hurriedly on the edge of the huge circular tub. 

"Are you all right, Captain?" It was the English-accented voice from the air again, and it was so unexpected he almost fell into the empty tub. 

"Yeah, yeah." He looked around him, suddenly much more aware that he was completely naked and that his back still hurt when he moved. "Who the ... who the heck are you, anyway? Are you watching me? From where?" 

"I am Jarvis, sir, an artificial intelligence that runs Mr Stark's households, workshops and his other ... machines. Yes, I have been watching you, as instructed by Mr Stark, but you may be assured of my discretion. I have no motives except following Mr Stark's orders." 

The future, slapping him in the face again. 

Now he thought about it, he'd heard that voice coming from Stark's cell phone, once. "Artificial intelligence? You're a machine? A computer?" 

"I am housed in a number of computers, Captain. In fact, you could say that I am all of Stark Industries computers. It amuses Mr Stark to refer to me as the butler. I am always here, to assist you if you require it." 

Steve gave himself a mental shake; so he was in the future. Deal with it, Rogers. "Can you tell me how to work the shower?" he asked. 

"You tell me the temperature you require and the force of the spray, sir, what shower gel or shampoo you require, and when you wish the spray switched on and off. In this case, might I suggest a temperature of 105 degrees Fahrenheit, with a medium strength spray working up to strong, with perhaps a half-second cold pulse when you require it? I will make sure that the spray is directed away from your wound." 

There was nothing Steve could think of to say except, "Okay, we'll go with that, Jarvis." 

 

The shower was perfect and cleared his mind as well as cleaned his body. And the first thing that occurred to him with his newly awakened memory and reason was that the last time he had woken, Jarvis had called Stark immediately. 

So... "Where's Mr Stark?" he asked. 

"Mr Stark is in conference." 

"Are we – me and Mr Stark – alone here?" 

"There are seven thousand six hundred and thirty two Stark employees currently in the building, which is slightly below average for daytime, sir, with approximately one and a half thousand working at night and weekends." 

"I meant in the penthouse, if that's where we are, Jarvis." 

"It is where you are, sir. And you are currently alone here. Ms Potts is in Japan, negotiating with Toyota. They wish to power their next generation of cars with modified ARC reactors." 

Not important. What was important was that none of the other – Avengers – had come back here. 

Being here with Stark was dangerous. Staying within reach of an organisation controlled by a shadowy political body willing to destroy New York, and that regarded the Avengers as a danger to mankind when it wasn't using them, had seemed stupid then and seemed stupid now. It was the reason he and Romanoff and Barton had scattered in the first place, with Tony's money behind them and Tony's expertise to remove them from SHIELD's computer records while his device was still in place in the Helicarrier. He'd also created new identities for them. Maybe the Widow and Hawkeye were still together. He hoped so. 

But it would only be a few days before he was completely well again. Then he'd better leave and – 

Oh, hell, the cops would have picked up his bike by now. If they traced it back to the rented apartment they would find the Captain America uniform that he had not taken with him that day. And SHIELD would know at once. 

They all knew by now that he was here. 

"Jarvis," he said, "I'll need some clothes." 

"I'm sorry, sir. Mr Stark has given me strict instructions to see you don't overreach yourself. Once he is out of conference—" 

Steve stopped listening. All his instincts were telling him that he was being lied to, distracted, even if it was by a computer. Because Stark, unlikely nurse though he was, had been genuinely worried about him, and genuinely reluctant to leave him to Jarvis's ministrations. 

"This conference: was it on Mr Stark's schedule?" he asked carefully. 

"Not exactly, sir." 

"I need to talk to him. Now." 

"As I told you, Captain, he is in conference." The AI, which could probably deal with a hundred conversations at once, seemed distracted. 

Evasion. Definitely evasion. 

Steve whirled and ran back into the bedroom. He didn't even bother to try the door to the rest of the penthouse – if he was indeed there – which he was sure Jarvis had locked, but stood looking about him. 

His shield was in plain sight, leaning against the wall near the bed, right next what appeared to be a bedside table. He pulled the top drawer open, and there were the possessions he had been carrying, including his cell phone. Which had Tony's number programmed in, though he had never actually used it. Indeed, he had never switched it on, sure that it would be monitored in some way. 

"I'm calling Stark now," he told Jarvis. 

"Do not do that, Captain," Jarvis cautioned urgently. "Not if you value his life and your freedom." 

"Only," Steve said, "if you tell me what is happening right now. Because with my shield I can break out of here. If you think I'm incapable of walking out stark naked and finding him, you're wrong, Jarvis." There was silence. Steve picked up his shield and moved towards the door. 

"I will project a holographic image of what is happening at this moment," Jarvis said, and suddenly, half the room was filled with light and people. Though they were perhaps a quarter of their normal size they looked totally real, rounded, alive, moving, just as in the TV ads for the new Stark Games console – whatever that was, exactly. The reality was stunning and, just for a moment, Steve simply marvelled at the technology. 

Then his breath hissed through his teeth as he realised just how much trouble Stark was in.


	5. Alarms and Excursions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony rode the elevator down to the lobby with only part of his mind listening to Jarvis's briefing; this situation was dangerous but not entirely unexpected, given what had happened in White Plains.

Tony rode the elevator down to the lobby with only part of his mind listening to Jarvis's briefing; this situation was dangerous but not entirely unexpected, given what had happened in White Plains.

He had begun suspect his time to think was limited when he had been barred from the site of the collapsed eStarkStore. The police had sealed it, then SHIELD and the FBI quarrelled over it for a time, while Jarvis hacked into all of their research files.

They hadn't gotten anything from the CSIs.

Tony had itched to go and see for himself, sure that he could sift details of the weapons and their power source from the remains that no one else could.

What was even more worrying was that nothing reached the press about Captain America, despite the fact that the police were well aware of the identity of the shield-wielding civilian who had restricted the casualties to single figures, and must have seen Iron Man fly off with him in the direction of Stark Tower.

The Smartphone videos of that had been blurry, particularly when blown up in the hope of getting detail, but they had been enough to bring Bruce on the line even as Tony reached the Tower, and he had landed with the other man's voice in his ears.

He had been grateful for that as he'd worked to patch up an unconscious Captain America.

Even more ominously, the police hadn't called for witness statements. Cap's motorbike was almost certainly present at the scene, yet there was nothing in any of the reports to suggest it had been found. Tony still had the Harley WLA that Howard Stark had modified and SHIELD had bugged in the Tower garage, but he had sent Happy Hogan, who had purchased the Triumph Tiger Explorer as its replacement using the new identity Tony had forged for Steve Rogers, and had checked him out on it before he took to the road. Happy didn't find it, but reported a jumpy police presence.

Meanwhile, SI's insurance premiums had skyrocketed, and Pepper, ringing from Toyota City (and how cool was that, and was there a Stark City anywhere in the States at which he could establish a company address for snail mail?) had spoken of getting a Lloyd's syndicate to take on the risk.

She was on her way back, an offer from Toyota in her briefcase, but still too far away to get caught up in this, thank all the gods in Asgard or anywhere else.

He had heard nothing from Fury. Nothing at all.

And nothing from Rhodey, who might at least have called to make sure he was all right.

He said, "If this is what we think it is, Jarvis, I'll try reason and when that fails we'll go to plan B."

"We have a plan B, sir? We did not have a plan A thirty three seconds ago."

"Then Plan A had better work, hadn't it?"

"Are you quite sure you do not wish to handle this in the suit, sir?"

"Jarvis, there are nine people in the lobby with guns, together with five times as many of my employees, and an unknown number of visitors who may or may not be clients. If I went in wearing the suit, how many innocents would be alive afterwards?"

"I do not know, sir, but I know the odds that you would be are infinitely greater."

"They want to talk to me. So we talk, while you evacuate everyone you can through the emergency exits – and any route that doesn't take them near the lobby." 

"Just so, sir. Oh, and Captain Rogers has just woken. He seems much better."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. The man's timing was impressively bad.

"Take care of him, Jarvis. Anything he wants. But keep him in that suite."

"Should I tell him what is happening, sir?"

"No reason for him to know. I don't want him to get worked up. Or leave. I got this, Jarvis."

"If you say so, sir." Fuck it, how had he come to create an AI that was as sarcastic as he was?

Damn Jarvis's doubts.

This was no place for his playboy persona, and no place either for the smartass genius that was the closest he dared come with other people to who he really was. Okay, time for tough-businessman-Tony-Stark to put in an appearance, with the smartass genius in reserve.

"Listen up, Jarvis. This is Plan B."

 

Tony stepped out of the elevator and into an atmosphere of high tension. The security team behind the main reception desk on its raised marble platform were all on their feet, hands in view, well away from their holstered Stark specials. The reason they had not drawn those pistols was clear: men and women in combat gear (without any identifiable insignia) were placed strategically throughout the room. They all had guns too, modern assault weapons; at least three H&K G36s, a Hammer Widowmaker (bad choice, that), four M4 carbines and, even, damn it, a Stark SI2300 sub machine gun. No civilian would be carrying one of those in New York.

Tony automatically calculated the sightlines and winced. No wonder the lobby was almost silent. Too many people who had not managed a quick exit were crouched behind the potted palms and figs, or the banked seating.

He'd been right; bursting in wearing the armour would have resulted in too many civilian casualties. As it was he had walked right into the sights of a woman in combat gear covering the elevator bank, though she had enough discipline not to fire. Another was watching the doors.

Two men were standing on the black marble platform that comprised the reception area. One of them was pointing his M4 towards the staff, all of whom, including the security officers – who should have stopped these lunatics before they got in here, damn it, and there was sure as hell going to be an inquest about _that_ – were huddled behind the receptionists' desk. If Jarvis dropped the shields they would all be perfectly safe, but it would leave the visiting civilians exposed and alert the intruders to his resources, which was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

The other intruder, a huge individual whose head was topped by a buzz cut so short it looked as if someone had sprayed his scalp black, still had his Heckler and Koch shouldered.

The squad commander, then.

Tony took his hands out of his pockets, just in case anyone thought he might have a weapon concealed about his person, plastered a patented Tony Stark shit-eating smile on his face and strolled over towards them. "Sorry, guys," he announced into the silence. "Not impressed. For that you'd need bigger guns. Much, much bigger guns. Or missiles." 

In return he received blank stares and the attention of two guns, but no one actually moved, except for the man who hadn't bothered to ready his own weapon. He stepped forward. "Mr Stark? I'm Major Hennis of the MICIO."

"Never heard of them," Tony responded, because he hadn't, and he thought he knew just about every acronym the military had come up with. Which was a lot.

The lean, sun-tanned man at Hennis's side, the back of whose head had apparently been sprayed red, snapped, "Military Intelligence and Criminal Investigation Oversight," without even a glance towards the man he was addressing.

Huh? If it was real, the DIA and USACIDC were going to be pissed. "Hey," Tony said brightly, "are you the Army equivalent of the NCIS and, if so, have you got any hot Goth scientists, because I've met the beautiful deadly foreign spy and that kind of thing isn't all it's cracked up to be?" He hoped Natasha would forgive him if she ever heard about it.

The whole bunch ignored him. He didn't even get a smile or a glare.

"So, why are you in my lobby with guns – even if one of them will probably jam or blow up on you – instead of phoning my secretary to make an appointment next year, just like everyone else?"

"Precisely because it would have taken a year, if you had agreed to see us at all. The guns got your attention. Also," Hennis grinned nastily, and Tony decided he preferred the blank look, "it sorta equalises the situation, you having one of the world's most advanced weapons at your disposal."

Well, if they thought that their guns equalised the Iron Man they had another think coming just as soon as he'd separated them from the civilians.

Or did they expect him to hand over the armour?

Only one way to find out. "Well, you have my attention. What do you want from me?"

To his astonishment, Hennis said, "We believe you are holding an American citizen, Steven Grant Rogers, illegally and probably against his will."

"Well, that's a new one. I've never been charged with kidnapping before." Maybe he could head this off at the pass. Tony turned and looked back at the reception desk, to the security guards who were plainly very, very uneasy and snapped his fingers. "You, check whether a Steven Rogers has entered this building in, oh, say the last month. How is that spelled, by the way? V or PH? Rogers with or without the D? Never mind, there aren't that many iterations. Check them all, including all name combinations, with or without the initial, just so we don't miss a trick."

"Yes, sir." The guard looked down under the counter. "Do you want me to contact Mr Jarvis, sir?"

Oh, right. Jarvis was in charge of security nowadays and most of the staff were under the impression that he was a human being, albeit one they had never met.

"He's aware," Tony said. He turned back to Hennis. "Give them a minute and you'll have your answer. Meanwhile, I'm curious as to why you are here instead of the NYPD." The answer would be a lie, of course, but Tony needed to stall just a little as he worked through the ramifications of Hennis's claim. 

That Captain America was here was something anyone with access to You Tube might have guessed, but Hennis, or whoever had sent him, had to know that Captain America was the one and only original and, as far as Tony was aware, the only people who were actually certain of that were SHIELD and the Avengers, and these people were not SHIELD. Not Fury's style at all—

Wait. He'd forgotten the World Security Council. If they knew what SHIELD knew then the information could be all over the world by now...

Hennis's lip curled. "Rogers is AWOL from his US Army unit."

Tony could think of nothing to say to that, though his thoughts were racing. 

AWOL for like for seventy years? And officially declared dead. Produce his birth certificate, Colonel, and I'll match it with the official declaration of his death from the Chief of the Casualty Branch. I'm sure Dad must have kept it somewhere.

"Mr Stark, sir." The call came from the reception desk. They'd been extra fast. "We have no trace of a Steven Rogers, with or without the G or the PH or the D entering or leaving the building in the past month. We used to have a Grant Stephens working in Legal, but he left six months ago, and there's an S. Rogers in IT, but she's Sonya."

"Thank you." Tony said happily. He glared at Hennis. "There, you have your answer. Now get the hell out of my building."

Hennis shook his head. "You're lying, Mr Stark. You know that and I know that. If you continue to be obstructive I must insist on searching your penthouse and research facilities."

Okay, if they wanted to play hardball—

Tony's beard jutted out aggressively. " _Aaaalll_ right, I call the fourth amendment, so produce your warrant. If you do have the authority to search this building. Which I doubt."

Hennis smiled nastily. "We don't need a warrant. We're operating under the authority of the Joint Chiefs."

"Wrong answer. You shall not pass."

"This is still American soil, Stark, for all you've tried to declare independence for Stark Industries. You're not above the law. Steven Rogers is here and you _will_ hand him over to us."

"And your evidence of his existence, let alone that he is here, is still ..." Tony looked them all up and down insolently, "...absent." Out of the corner of his eye he had spotted at least one civilian making a break for it. Keep their attention on him and more might escape.

"You don't need evidence," Hennis retorted. "Don't play the innocent with me. You're Howard Stark's son and a SHIELD consultant. You've known who Rogers was since you were three."

"Ah, so you haven't a warrant or any evidence and while your first statement is unfortunately true, the reply to the second is 'not anymore.' Hell, wish I could say that for both." No, Tony. Keep your cool. You're going to need it. "And I'm the owner of this building, with a team of hotshot lawyers like you wouldn't believe. You want me to call them and ask how many laws you're breaking? You don't come after an AWOL soldier with lethal force! Has he committed a crime?"

"That's none of your business."

"Despite the fact that you're accusing me of harbouring a fugitive. Oh, wait, I thought it was kidnapping. Make up your minds. Can you even provide me with evidence that this Steven Rogers exists?" Tony asked. "How about his military record? What's his social security number? Has he got a drivers' licence? Well?"

There was an embarrassing silence. Tony knew damn well that producing Cap's real army record would be... well, equally embarrassing. He did have a driver's licence, though not under his real name, as a result of a Jarvis hack. As for his social security number...

Some of that paperwork – and it would be paper – might still exist somewhere, though his father had somehow gotten his hands on most of it and Jarvis had wiped all the computer records. He didn't think these guys had any of it.

He did not believe – did not want to believe – that Hennis was US military. There had been attempts to test his security since the Loki affair, and maybe some of them had been by the Air Force or the Army, but none had been so blatant or aimed at Captain America rather than his tech – though maybe that was a feint.

Hennis's gun was now pointing directly at Tony's groin. "I'm tired of this," he said. "Give us Rogers or, even if you survive the blood loss, your playboy lifestyle is over."

"Do that and you won't get into the elevator, let alone the pentho—" Tony deliberately broke off that sentence, dropped eye contact with Hennis for an instant, then started another. "Shoot anyone and my CEO and the legal department will see you in jail for so long y—" This time it was a hand over his mouth that cut him off.

There was the rattle of automatic fire. 

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck...

He should have ordered Jarvis to deploy the shields.

But the bullets merely stitched holes in the walls, shattered a mirror wall (and, damn it, the security cameras behind it) and destroyed the specially commissioned artwork.

Pepper was going to be so pissed.

Moments later, the place was silent. The only things Tony could hear were the harsh breathing of the gunmen, someone whimpering with fright and the occasional thud of falling plaster.

The long curve of the reception desk appeared deserted. Jarvis hadn't dropped the screens, and the damage was high above it so Tony believed – hoped, prayed – that everyone behind it had followed their instincts and dropped to the floor behind the desk.

"No one's dead, and no one has to die," Hennis growled in his ear. "Not if you cooperate. Now, let's go find Rogers."

Tony wasn't sure that allowing Hennis to drag him over to the wall that hid the private elevator from which he had emerged into the lobby was cooperating. But with the rest of the assault squad clustering about him, he was quite certain that his plan, at least, was working.

Just getting more dangerous by the moment.

"Open it."

Tony put his hand on the wall, and the hidden number pad glowed. His fingers flew swiftly across the virtual keys before the gunmen had time to take in what he was doing and the elevator doors opened even as the glow of the pad faded away.

The elevator car was empty.

Tony was hustled inside in the middle of a tight huddle of soldiers. 

All nine.

Gotcha.

"You," Hennis growled, nodding towards the elevator control panel, which had less than half a dozen levels marked: the garage, the lobby, the executive suite, the research centre, and the penthouse. "Take us up top."

Tony hit the Penthouse button.

The elevator hummed and jerked slightly, pressing against their feet as it picked up speed. A glowing line besides the buttons showed how far they had ascended.

Nice touch, Jarvis.

Even in an elevator this express, the ride seemed to take forever.

As the doors slid open, the squad barrelled out, guns at the ready, going high and low. Hennis was the last out, jerking Tony with him, as red-crew-cut shouted at him to go back.

Too late.

As soon as Tony's legs cleared the elevator doors they slammed shut, and vanished into the wall.

The soldiers and Tony were clustered together in a bare concrete room, with no apparent way in or out, no elevator controls visible. Tony had meant to be in the elevator, but had not counted on it. It just made the odds on his own survival a little longer, and they were inching into unacceptable territory as it was.

Realising they had been tricked, the squad went into full aggressive mode, guns out, covering every empty inch. Hennis looked about him, then, snarling, backhanded Tony in the face.

Tony rode the blow, twisting to his feet, ready to run. He had one advantage now; the disguised opening in the left hand wall that Jarvis controlled – with nothing but air beyond. He'd gone through a window before now, though that had been higher up the building, but this time Jarvis would have the Iron Man armour waiting right outside.

But Hennis had him again, was shaking him furiously, and was demanding that he open the elevator doors.

Before he had a chance to respond, those doors, behind which should have been only an open shaft, the car long gone, doors which should have been sealed and the shaft inaccessible, with Jarvis in control, opened.

"Let Stark go!" Captain America, in full uniform, strode into the room, pausing in front of the open elevator doors, shield raised. "You wanted me. Here I am. You have three seconds to release him."

Even as he was speaking, there was mechanical hiss and light flooded the room. A red-and-gold vaguely humanoid collection of metal bulleted through the gap that had appeared in the wall.

Instantly, automatic fire bracketed the armour. Ricochets sprayed across the room.

Hennis stepped back hurriedly.

It was enough.

Tony's knee connected solidly with the his groin, and he broke the hold in the way Happy had taught him, even as Cap yelled, "Stark, go!" and the shield sliced into the air towards them.

Hennis dropped to the floor, but Tony threw himself straight at the red, white and blue clad figure, passing right through it and on through the already-closing elevator doors. He went to his knees as the car shot upwards.

"Jarvis, get the armour out of there!"

"Already done, sir. And the steel shutters are deployed."

"Make a radar sweep. Those goons didn't leave anyone below. They must have had an escape route—"

The elevator doors opened.

Steve Rogers, clad in nothing but a towel wrapped about his waist, was standing waiting for him. He grabbed Tony's elbows and hauled him out into the room.

"You all right?" he demanded, holding Tony still without apparent effort.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Missed me completely."

Rogers looked at him assessingly for a moment, then let him go. "I miscalculated," he said tightly. "I thought they'd be too disciplined to open fire in that confined space."

"Not Special Forces, Cap. At least, I don't think so."

"Is that why you went for the elevator? Jarvis said you'd do it that way. I thought you'd try for the armour."

"They weren't going to shoot at you; I'd gotten the impression they wanted you alive."

"How did you know it wasn't really me?"

"You haven't got your uniform. Or any clothes, actually," he added, with a wicked grin, letting his gaze linger; a naked Captain America was a memory to treasure. He wondered if he'd escape alive if he took a tug at the towel. It might even be worth it. "And Jarvis wouldn't have operated the elevator for you. It wasn't a Life Model Decoy because we don't have one for you. So it had to be a hologram, admittedly one that you were voicin—".

"Sir," Jarvis interrupted, "radar reveals a contact heading straight for the tower, level with the helipad."

"Shields up! Warn them off, Jarvis! And armour me up!"

Cap stepped aside to let him pass, as he raced out onto the Iron Man landing pad, the armour already waiting to close around him.

As he rose into the air he saw what purported to be a Sikorsky S-70C in commercial livery swinging into as tight a turn as it could manage at the sight of the Iron Man. He was willing to bet that it was armed with as many guns as its Blackhawk relative, but its pilot knew when it was outgunned.

Tony sent a drone to follow it, then watched it disappear into the far distance, heading out over the Sound and towards the open sea beyond.

 

When he got back to the Tower, he was slightly disappointed to find that Cap had, no doubt under Jarvis's direction, located and donned a black towelling robe which hid all that glorious muscle but did emphasise how fair he was and deepened the colour of his eyes. Tony might be in a committed relationship, but he was still, he was sure, allowed to look.

What Cap said was, "I told you having me here was dangerous."

"And I told you it didn't make a difference. Why do you think Jarvis and I had this set up? We suspected the Avengers would attract the wrong kind of attention. That room – built to hold anything up to the Hulk, with Bruce's advice – was the first thing I put in when we started rebuilding. I don't know what this bunch want from you, Cap, but after the eStarkStore incident it's clear _someone_ – probably but not certainly someone else – also wants me dead. And they want the ARC reactor. Or the Iron Man. Maybe both. It's great to be popular. And I'm beginning to think we might be better off watching each other's backs than operating on our own."

For the moment, Rogers chose to ignore that assertion. "And this 'bunch' ?" he demanded. "Are they really US military?"

Tony spread his hands. "Who knows? We'll let them cool their heels for a while, let them think we're going to starve them out. Not that that isn't tempting. It might be interesting to see who claims 'em. If no-one does I'll call Fury and let him take care of them."

"And if he demands that you hand me over, or Iron Man?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we reach it." 

Whatever answer Cap might have given was lost in a dull crack that seemed both muffled and deafening. The penthouse shuddered. Tony's first thought as a long-term California resident was that it was an earthquake. But this was New York... 

"I regret to tell you, sirs," said Jarvis's voice, "that there has been an explosion in the secure holding room. It appears the intruders attempted to blast their way through the wall and into the elevator shaft, unaware every surface was armoured."

The two men looked at each other with identical expressions of shock and fear as they waited for the tower to collapse under their feet.

When it didn't, and, indeed, the penthouse's huge windows remained intact and its walls uncracked, Tony found his voice. "Call 911, Jarvis. Police, medics, and – though I can't believe I'm saying this – inform SHIELD. Damage report?"

"The building does appear to be intact, sir."

"All the same, as a precaution, evacuate the remaining staff except the building engineers. From them I want a full structural integrity check right now."

"At once, sir."

"Is it always like this?" Cap – no, Steve, because Captain America would never allow himself to look so young and vulnerable – asked.

"Nope. Sometimes the stock market drops and then it gets really exciting. Better this than a Board meeting."

He was rewarded with a grin. "I can imagine," Steve said.

"Meanwhile, how are you feeling? Not that I'm not in awe of the effects of Erskine's serum, but should you be out of bed?"

"I'm fine." Steve shrugged, then winced. "A bit sore. I'm sorry to bother you, Tony, but I really, really could use some food right now."

"Serum sped up your metabolism, yeah. Come on. I could do with something myself. Even if it's only frozen pizza."

"Better than army rations or the SHIELD canteen."

"You haven't tasted it yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a Stark City. It is in Missouri and has a population that would hardly qualify it as a village!


	6. Taking Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are interesting things flying over New York, not all of them Tony.

Steve sighed, dropped the sketch book he had been using on his knees and rested his chin on his hands; Manhattan was laid out below him, towers and surviving brownstones marching in straight lines, yellow cabs crowding the streets below Stark Tower, sunlight glinting off glass and water. From his perch the damage the Chitauri had done seemed almost negligible.

Here Erik Selvig had opened a gate to outer space, allowing the alien invaders in: huge animalistic machines crawling through the portal and into the spaces between the towers, ugly humanoid figures dropping down with weapons blazing...

It didn't seem real.

It was also right here that the Black Widow had closed that portal, on his orders.

Those orders had come so close to killing Tony Stark. At the time it had seemed a necessity; he still didn't see how else he could have called it.

Even as he had given that order he had been mentally pleading with a long-dead Howard Stark to forgive him for killing his son. Now he was beginning to know the real Tony and the memories of the portal closing and Iron Man falling out of the sky were a new feature of his nightmares.

He was so tired of those. 

His wound had taken six days to heal completely, leaving his back unscarred. Tony maintained that this showed the super-soldier process had given him an accelerated healing factor, and that this was probably the reason he had survived being frozen in the ice. He also told Steve all the reasons why this should not have been possible, which made quite a long list.

The most worrying thing he had said, though, had been, "You can't let anyone else know about this – it would be another reason for them to try and re-create the super-soldier serum, or experiment on you to isolate that part of it. You've heard what happened to Bruce, which wasn't the worst of it." He'd elaborated to an extent that left Steve shocked and faintly nauseous.

It was only the beginning: Tony seemed determined to educate him in modern science – at least the bits of it that interested Tony – as well as those very recent events in politics, history and popular culture that Tony thought he would need to in twenty first century society. ("You can fill in the gaps later.") All this was flung at him at a speed that left him struggling to keep pace, because the more he managed to absorb, the faster Tony fed it to him, usually while working on something else entirely.

The new knowledge was exhilarating and, surprisingly, made it easier to make it through the bouts of hateful flash-memories.

"PTSD – Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," Fury had said. "They called it Battle Fatigue in your day, and Shell Shock before that. You're neither the first nor the last to experience it, soldier."

He wasn't a soldier any more.

Why had Fury kept insisting that he was?

And why did Fury continue to ignore both his presence here and the attempted storming of Stark Tower?

The NYPD had declined to take an interest, passing the buck to SHIELD as the relevant authority where superheroes were concerned, though what defined a 'superhero' was something he had yet to discover. SHIELD had sent a team to pick up the bodies – or the charred bits of body – but had made no further enquiries.

They hadn't even asked if Tony had taken DNA samples.

Which was something else that it was difficult to believe; that someone could be identified from their _genes._ He wondered if there had been a measure of what was now called 'genetic engineering' in the mixture of serum and vita-rays that had turned him into the one and only super-soldier. 

To Fury – to everyone at SHIELD, except possibly Phil Coulson – he had been a tool to be used. Now that tool appeared to have been discarded, which was both a relief and, if he was honest, a blow to his self-esteem. Apparently Captain America didn't matter to SHIELD. He wondered if Natasha and Clint were also being ignored, and if they felt the same... disappointment. Bruce, on the other hand, was probably grateful.

There had been some speculation in the press about the Stark Tower evacuation, which had been attributed to everything from damage caused during the Chitauri invasion to a result of one of Tony's experiments to a breakout by the Hulk. It had helped that those people who had been in the lobby during the incursion – or those who has spoken to the press, at least – had told wildly differing stories. What was more, each paper that had quoted Tony had printed something contradictory. Either they were making up the quotes or Tony was gleefully misleading them. Steve's money was on the latter.

He looked down at the sketchbook and winced. While his mind had been wandering, the cityscape he'd laid out on the pad had acquired a series of doodles, almost all recognisable as Tony Stark.

With an annoyed mutter he took the eraser to each one, with the profound wish that he could erase his growing fascination with the other man as easily.

Listening to Tony and watching him bring up illustration after illustration with a gesture or an instruction to Jarvis, while those deft hands worked with metal (and other, sometimes unidentifiable substances), or constructed – conducted? – three dimensional models into the air, sure as heck beat hitting those punching bags until they surrendered. Fury had encouraged him in letting out his rage, but Tony diverted it by feeding his mind.

They'd spent almost all of their waking hours together over the past week.

Was Tony lonely, Steve wondered? Miss Potts – and why did she permit herself to be called 'Pepper' when Virginia was a beautiful name? Didn't she want the association with virgin, though how was a bad pun better? Anyhow, Miss Potts, who was certainly not a virgin if the way Tony spoke about her was anything to go by, had been diverted to Washington on her way back from Japan, and Tony had been seriously annoyed by the delay.

Perhaps that was why he had spent so much time with Steve, who was desperately grateful for even this short break in his isolation.

It would be so hard to leave.

But his guts churned at the thought of meeting Miss Potts. Which was odd because he had not had the not-knowing-what-to-say-to-dames problem with Natasha or Deputy Director Hill, but then they were professional ... somethings.

Only Miss Potts was something far from professional to Tony.

And Tony had sent all the Avengers undercover for a reason, which had not gone away. Eventually, he would have to go, and the longer he stayed the worse the loneliness would be.

Not for the first or even the hundred and first time he wished SHIELD had never found him in the ice.

With a sigh he rose to his feet and made his way back towards the entrance to the penthouse, fighting the high wind with little effort. It was then that he became aware of raised voices inside the building.

"No, no, no!" Tony was shouting. "Don't argue with me, Potts. I will _not_ licence ARC technology exclusively, even exclusively in any particular market area. And I won't sell it, even in sealed boxes that explode if you open them, to the military or ROXXON oil."

"Tony, be reasonable. I've told you before: you can't keep this a secret. And therefore you _must_ patent it." It was a woman's voice; an intelligent, determined voice that, despite the lack of an English accent, reminded him all too vividly of Peggy.

"That's the one sure way to make sure it's pirated all over the world, and a future tactic for when we've made our money and improved it so much the competition will be forever playing catch-up. Also _prior art_ , Pepper."

"Someone will duplicate it. Vanko did."

"Vanko had a unique advantage."

There was a long pause. Steve could imagine Tony glaring at a woman who, in his imagination, was a cross between Bette Davis and Rosalind Russell. Then Tony said, more quietly, "The ARC technology is far more important than either of us, Pep, or Stark Industries profits."

"You have a duty to the shareholders to make those profits."

"So the Board tells me, but in fact it's your job, not mine. You're the CEO."

"And you're the Chairman and majority shareholder so it's in your _interest_ to help me with that, Tony. It was bad enough when you were wasting your time playing superhero as Iron Man, but then you had to involve Jim—"

"Hey, he stole the damn suit!"

"He had to, because you won't accept help, Tony. You have to be the centre of attention—"

"Obie, Hammer and Vanko _made_ me the centre of attention."

"They didn't 'privatise world peace', alienate the US government – our best customers – humiliate Hammer Technology—"

"Don't forget inviting Loki and the Chitauri to invade Earth."

Miss Potts laughed at that, though a little ruefully. "I'll concede that one. But it had to be you who saved the world, didn't it?"

"There wasn't anyone else, wasn't another way out."

It was almost a whisper.

"I quote one Anthony Edward Stark, 'There is always a plan B.'"

_I'd cut the wire._

"Taking that missile through the portal was the way out," Tony stated. 

"Oh, _Tony_." There was love as well as exasperation in Miss Potts' voice. "You've sent the Avengers away, made yourself the only visible target – and I could have come home to bury you..."

Steve backed away quietly towards the fire escape door, which opened at his touch. He didn't want to come between Tony and his girl, or put either of them in danger.

It was time to go. But he would miss Tony's company, and who would have predicted that, when they met in that square in Stuttgart? 

 

Steve had never been more grateful for the gift of his super-soldier reflexes than when threading the Harley through Manhattan midday traffic through the one-way maze leading into the Holland Tunnel.

It didn't help that someone – Tony, it had to be Tony – had added controls to his bike that he didn't understand. It was more responsive now, and faster – more responsive and faster than the Triumph Tiger – but that didn't bother him so much as the unfamiliar buttons and switches that did God-alone-knew-what. Tony would no doubt have briefed him, if he had had the nerve to face Tony... Facing down the Red Skull had been easy compared to that.

Once through the Holland tunnel and out into Jersey he would have to make a choice, but right now his only plan was to leave Manhattan behind and to stay away from Brooklyn, because that was probably where everyone would look for him.

He had just spotted the tunnel entrance ahead when metal-clad hands grasped him round the waist and hauled him into the air, the bike dangling from his hands, almost jerking his arms from their sockets as the ground fell away at the speed of an express elevator. But he didn't dare let go, the bike that Howard had modified for him a far too precious link with the past, the only one left, except for his shield.

Nor had he any doubts about who was lifting him far above the street, heading, no doubt, for the confrontation he had tried so hard to avoid.

Indeed, less than a minute later he and the bike were deposited on a handy roof, and Iron Man was landing beside him.

He went on the attack. "What the hell, Stark?"

"I'm the one owed an explanation, Rogers," Iron Man snarled right back, the metal sliding away to reveal Tony Stark's flushed and angry face. "I'm not the one who fled from the Tower without so much as a thank you."

"I left you a message with Jarvis—"

"You ran away. Captain America ran away rather than tell me face to face how I'd offended him – you."

"You didn't—"

"So what was it? Tired of my company? Or was it your quarters - you'd call them quarters, right? That's just temporary. I wasn't expecting you back so soon—"

"The quarters are fine, Tony. More than fine."

"But I can make your floor a priority—"

"I just need to stand on my own feet."

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Stop lying to me," Tony shouted. "Everything was just fine this morning. Then a few hours later, you run for it. Why?"

"I was not running!" Steve knew he was being childish but Tony in this mood brought out the worst in him without any effort at all.

"No? Tell me you haven't got your shield. And that's the Harley Dad built for you. I've taken out SHIELD's bugs by the way—"

"And added your own, no doubt," Steve said bitterly. "As well as a lot of stuff I don't understand—"

"Well, if you'd had the nerve to face me you'd know about it, and you could have your Captain America suit."

"But I haven't—"

"Here." Iron Man unshipped the canvas roll that was slung over his back and dropped it at Steve's feet. "SHIELD left one of your suits at Stark Tower reception when they came to pick up the remains of Hennis's team. I would have told you then but the armouring was totally inadequate and I needed to fix that. I was going to ask you to test it tonight..."

"Oh." All Steve's anger had drained away, and he was having trouble fighting off a wave of shame that followed it. Tony had been so danged generous – and kind.

"I had hoped," Tony went on, "that we were, if not friends, at least team-mates."

"Of course we're friends," Steve was horrified. "Working with you has been great, Tony, but my presence puts you in danger. I knew if I explained you'd try to make me change my mind, though I can't imagine why."

Tony quirked an eyebrow. "Well, I didn't want make Bruce angry with me; you know how green he gets. He was really worried about you being alone."

"But Bruce is alone," Steve protested in an attempt to avoid the implications of that.

"Actually, no, he isn't. You're the only one who's alone. Thor's with his family and I presume Natasha and Clint are still together. I have Pep and sometimes Rhodey, but—"

"I overheard you arguing with Miss Potts," Steve interrupted. "She was angry with you for exposing yourself to danger, and I've made that worse."

"She wasn't angry with you. She didn't even know about you then, but she knows now that you've saved my life twice in the last week or so." Tony paused as something occurred to him. "What were you doing in White Plains anyway?"

They hadn't discussed that and he wasn't sure he wanted to tell Tony, but the other man was now looking at him with growing interest. "I had an interview."

"An interview? A job interview?"

"A commission interview. A kindergarten wanted some murals painted, and that, at least, is something I'm qualified to do, so..." He shrugged. "If the police have my bike they must be puzzled by the drawings I'd done."

Tony laughed. "What, teddy bears and elves and rainbows and things?" He became serious. "Steve, what would have happened if you hadn't been with Jarvis when those thugs arrived in the lobby?"

"They were there because I was," Steve protested.

"And if they'd come for you somewhere else? Some other workplace? Sure, you might have been able to take them out, but would you have even _tried_ with innocent civilians around you? Well?"

Steve said nothing, because Tony was right and they both knew it.

Tony took a deep breath, plainly steadying himself, then said, quietly. "We make a good team, Cap, and we have a better chance of finding out who attacked us and why – and preventing them from trying again – if we work together. Even if there are just the two of us, we're the Avengers. Now, please, come home."

"Miss Potts..."

"Just talk to her first. If she really wants me to throw you out, I'll send you to join Bruce and his colleagues, though you'll probably be bored out of your mind. But she won't."

Unwilling to show the relief that washed through him, Steve turned and stared south towards the Atlantic ocean, a small part of his mind wincing at the paucity of commercial shipping. Then movement just above the horizon beyond the Verranzo-Narrows Bridge caught his eye. It was too low and too slow for a plane, but far too big, surely, for a bird. "What's that?"

"What's what?" Tony didn't appear to expect an answer, because his faceplate dropped down, giving him access to technology that far outstripped Steve's serum-enhanced vision.

Steve shaded his eyes, trying to get a better view because the thing was in the full glare of the sun. Whatever it was, it was getting closer, looking as if it might just clear the top of the bridge.

"Jarvis reports something large, non-metallic and slow moving—" There was an audible plop, presumably Tony's mouth gawping in astonishment at the sight before him; Steve knew his was.

It was dappled grey, the same colour as the clouds and the sea, and it appeared to be a giant flying reptile ... Steve's memory supplied a reference – a creature attacking in _King Kong_ and being creamed by the ape – but this was far bigger—

"Well, whaddya know," Tony's voice, even distorted by the Iron Man synthesizer, sounded both delighted and shocked. "It's a steampunk pterosaur. Oh my God, it's even flapping its wings. It's an ornithopter! Pterathopter? That is such a lousy design. But I want one to play with."

"Why haven't the Air Force picked it up?"" Steve asked.

"Just because it _is_ low and slow and non-metallic. It'll profile like a kite or glider on radar. Or it may have gotten clearance from Air Traffic Control – ah, Jarvis says it has. It's advertising a new movie... and it's just amazing. I suspect everyone's too busy capturing it on their cells to even think about calling the military."

"A month after the Chitauri attack? I guess I shouldn't be surprised. This is New York."

"If it's not over Stark Tower it can't be aliens," Tony told him. "It's going to come up the Hudson, then land at La Guardia... What?" He was silent again for a moment, then said, "Better suit up, Cap. It may be nothing, but Jarvis can't find any financial record of this movie it's supposed to be advertising, though it does have a page on IMDB. I guess we ought to be ready."

Steve may not have understood most of that, but he didn't argue. Even as he struggled into the suit, which didn't seem particularly heavily armoured, though he trusted Tony, he heard the thwump-thwump of a helicopter. Both men looked up to see it passing overhead, heading out into the bay.

"Air Force?" Steve asked.

"Uhuh. Looks more like the press— Yeah, Jarvis is picking up their transmission."

The helicopter swung out over the water, circling to bring an all round view to TV viewers, as the ornithopter continued its slow progress towards Manhattan.

"At least it's not heading for Liberty Island," Steve said.

"What?"

"The Statue of Liberty was kind of a target for super villains in the pulps when I was a kid."

"You aren't thinking big enough, Rogers— Christ!"

As the helicopter moved in for a closer view, the sound of its engine faltered. It swayed dramatically from side to side, losing height all the time. The blades of the rotor were suddenly visible as the machine began to spin around the rotor mast.

"It's hostile." Iron Man snatched up Captain America and lifted them both high into the air, as the ornithopter – or whatever else Tony had called it – glided towards the Manhattan shoreline while the helicopter spiralled down towards the surface of the Upper Bay.

"How did it do that?" Steve shouted, turning his head to one side so that the wind of Iron Man's speed would not drown his words with its noise on the comm-link.

"I don't know," Tony admitted. "EMP maybe. I don't dare get too close until I do know."

Even as he spoke, the helicopter was raising a spout of water, smoke and flame on the surface of the river.

They'd never have reached it in time to save it. That alone justified Tony's decision to go after the ornithopter, which was just about to cross the shoreline at the very tip of Manhattan Island.

"It's heading over Battery Park," Steve said.

"No, for the Financial District," Iron Man shot back. "And that means I can't shoot it down—"

"If you made an overhead pass, how close d'you think you could get?" Steve asked

"A hundred feet, maybe. What's the plan, Cap?"

"Make that fast pass above and drop me to land on it."

Tony did not hesitate. He was already changing his grip, swinging Steve, below him, an arm around his waist as he said, "Gotcha. I'll make that fifty feet."

"No. Don't take risks."

All he got in response to that was a snort as they rocketed head first towards the ornithopter.

"Gotta calculate this right," Tony's voice said in his earpiece. "Miss and you'll be jelly—"

Steve's instincts had been doing their own subconscious calculation of speed and trajectories. "Now!" he shouted, but Iron Man's hands were releasing him even as he spoke.

The air screamed past his ears as he fell towards the ornithopter. Water and glass walls flashed in the sunlight to either side, glowed gold on the Iron Man armour swooping towards the plume of smoke from the downed helicopter, glittered on the wing struts that were so like bones...

And reflected from the back of the head – the cockpit – made of pale grey glass.

Instantly, he twisted in the air to hit that glass feet first. It starred and cracked but did not shatter, throwing his feet to one side. Then he was sliding down the fuselage, scrabbling for purchase.

His hand snagged the edge of the spread wing and he used it to claw his way back up the fuselage until, sitting astride the 'neck' he unshipped his shield and hammered it home into the glass.. This time, it broke, and the shield scooped it away so he could somersault through the gap into the cockpit.

Ahead of him, a man was sitting in the centre of a strange contraption that looked like nothing so much as a reconstruction of the control systems of a Wright Brothers era plane. He looked back, saw Steve, and screeched, lunging towards a large, conventionally red button set high on the side of the cockpit. Steve used his shield to intercept the lunge and the screech turned into a scream of agony that broke off short as Steve's fist drove the air from the pilot's lungs and probably shattered his ribs.

The ornithopter lurched sideways as Steve dragged the pilot from his seat – a bicycle seat? – and picked his way through the tangle to the controls.

"Iron Man?" he said into his com-link. "Gonna need your help."

There was no response.

At least aboard the Red Skull's flying wing he'd been able to call Phillips and Peggy, even if they hadn't been able to help. Here he was on his own.

He was far too big to sit properly at the pilot's station, and most of the controls made no sense, but that had to be the control stick, and that jerking needle must indicate the speed at which the wings were flapping, so the lever beneath it probably controlled that... and there was a rudder bar on the floor which probably controlled the position of that long tail...

Steve pulled the stick over to the right, shoved the wing-beat lever to its fullest extent and gently pressed his foot down on the right hand side of the rudder bar.

The ornithopter's wings thumped harder, but the right one also dipped. The machine began a slow bank, losing height despite the frantic beating of the wings. Steve was sure there were ways to correct all of this, but he had no idea what—

Something shifted to the rear. He glanced back along the neck to the body-fuselage and saw a row of translucent spheres with cloudy interiors, in what looked very like a bomb rack, rubbing against each other and the slats holding them in line.

Not for the first time, Steve wished his mother hadn't been so adamant about the use of foul language...

Beyond the windshield, he could see concrete and glass sliding by, with a wing tip just skimming the cars and cabs on the street below. Then suddenly the ornithopter was out of Manhattan and over the water...

The right wingtip touched the surface and the ornithopter tumbled, ass over tits, as Dum Dum would have said, into the bay.

"—swer me! Steve!" Tony's voice was suddenly back over the comm-link.

He was safe. Oh, thank God.

There was no time to reply because the tumult of water was already up to Steve's chin, the thin fuselage walls caving in under the pressure as it sank down towards the bottom.

At least this time there was no ice.

For a moment, just a moment, Steve considered going down without a fight. But he was not alone. There was another man, a still living man, here with him, and a row of what might be bombs behind.

Steve grabbed the pilot by the collar and hauled him through the tangle of wood and canvas and various substances he didn't recognise, though Tony would know—

If he ever saw Tony again, because his chest was tightening, and he couldn't seem to find his way out... The water was thick with mud and debris and he only had one hand free and his lungs were crying out for air...

He could still end it now. Just open his mouth and let the water in.

But there was a life, however worthless, for which he had responsibility. He couldn't—

A bright white light cut through the murk, bouncing from the swirling mud, a dust storm in the water. The wall of debris was pulled aside and Iron Man's glowing eyeslits appeared above the brighter circle in the breastplate.

Steve shoved the pilot at him, and Iron Man hooked a gauntlet through his collar, before holding out his other hand. Steve tried to wave him off, but Iron Man was having none of it. His hand closed around Steve's arm, then the repulsors on the boots flared and he was towing both men out of the wreckage and towards the flickering light of the surface.

Beyond that was air. It felt wonderful in Steve's lungs.

It was good to be alive, after all.

"Cap!" That was Iron Man's electronically distorted voice, so it was coming through the air itself and not the com-link. "Can you stay afloat? I need to get this fool to hospital."

"Yes," Steve gasped. He had not done much swimming as a child, had no real technique, but his strength and enhanced coordination made him effective enough in the water. The hand holding his arm let him go, and the surface around him flattened as the Iron Man rose out of the water. "But— Stark, wait! There are bombs in that aircraft. Or something that looks a lot like bombs."

"Shit!" Iron Man dropped back down into the water, giving the limp body he was still holding by the collar a second soaking. "Get behind me and grab hold. Arms round my neck, then just hang on and thank whatever gods you believe in that that it's not a bridal carry."

Steve did as he was told, clinging to the armour as it rose again from the surface. The amplified Iron Man voice boomed out across the bay. "Evacuate the area! Possible explosion! Evacuate the area!" even as he rocketed towards the shore, the limp pilot dangling from one hand and Captain America a limpet on his back.

Emergency vehicles were still racing to the scene, so Iron Man intercepted an ambulance, offloaded the unconscious ornithopter pilot with instructions to call the cops, and took off again, with Steve still clinging to his back.

They didn't go far.

Iron Man landed on the Hudson River Greenway, even as the sky darkened.

"That's the helicarrier up there, arriving late as usual," Tony said. "I'll talk to Fury about dealing with your 'bombs'. Can I trust you not to run for it?"

"You've put my bike on a roof, Stark. I'm not even sure which one."

"So I did." There was laughter in the distorted voice. "One of my better ideas. Stay here, Cap. You'll be picked up." With that, he was gone.


	7. Hidden

The helicarrier was hovering with a few feet between its keel and the surface of the upper bay, the downdraft from the rotors raising spectacular clouds of spray that masked its shape from the shore. 

Tony mentally agreed with the decision not to try to land; it would have been a close run thing even in the Ambrose channel where the helicarrier would have been almost in the Atlantic and way too far from the crash site. All the same, if SHIELD had ever hoped to keep their extraordinary craft a secret, those hopes had just been destroyed by a guy in an ornithopter.

Black-clad agents were massing around a large crane, which had been moved to the edge of the carrier deck, and were readying a boat for launch, but Fury was easily identifiable, standing back watching critically as Hill bossed the proceedings.

Iron Man landed a few feet in front of him, causing panic among the SHIELD agents, with much levelling of pistols and rifles.

"You'd better be careful around that steam-punk pteradonish object," Iron Man told them cheerfully. "Captain America saw what he describes in his usual forties idiom as 'bombs' in the belly of the beast. Actually, they look more like giant eggs – fragile eggs with rotten contents. They could contain anything from smells to smallpox."

"And how would you know?" Fury asked.

"Took a look on my way in."

"And you didn't succumb to temptation and pick one up, Stark?"

Iron Man reached out with a gauntlet clad hand, plucked one of the guns pointed vaguely in his direction from the hands of a SHIELD agent and casually bent the barrel with a twist of his fingers. "I don't take chances with 'fragile'."

"That's government property you're destroying, Stark."

"So bill me. I'm still trying to work out whether I can do the same to you for the damage to the foyer of my tower. By the way, unless those thugs were yours – and I do hope not – then there's a leak somewhere in SHIELD or with its masters, because they knew Captain America was the real thing. They came looking for Steven Grant Rogers and no-one else."

"Not a secret anyone could expect to keep. Besides, Stark, someone made Rogers disappear from our systems."

"Systems he should not have been on in the first place. You've no legal claim on him, Fury."

"It is only because of SHIELD that Rogers is alive right now," Fury said. "With no thanks to you. You gave up on him."

Tony burst out laughing, though only he knew that that laughter was forced. "Oh, sure, you expected to find him alive, did you? I doubt it. You were after the shield and Hydra's tech and maybe even what remained of Erskine's serum in Captain America's frozen body."

"And your father wasn't?" Fury snarled back, plainly stung, which meant that Tony had been near enough to the mark to repay the original jab with interest.

Being nasty about Howard didn't sting Tony any more. "Looking for a return? Probably. He spent a helluva lot of Stark Industries cash building those Arctic exploration vessels." The damn things had been mothballed after Howard's death, with an occasional lease for research—

Tony's mind made one of those sudden leaps for which he was, in some circles, infamous. "Jarvis," he said, for the AI's metaphorical ears alone, "have any of the Arctic Exploration vessels, iced superheroes for the finding of, been leased out at any time during the past three years? If so, to whom?"

"Stark, have you gone to sleep in there? If not, why don't you let us get on with our job and go mind your own store?"

Tony rose slowly from the deck, hovering on the repulsors. He liked the height advantage. "Are you sure? Because I have an exact GPS location on the pterathopter and I have to tell you that you're not within two hundred yards. With all that mud down there it might as well by two hundred miles. You're going to spend so much time looking you'll find yourself arguing over jurisdiction with Homeland Security, the Coast Guard and the police Harbour Unit . Well, at least it'll give me time to get clear in case Cap's right about those spheres being bombs and you set them off accidentally."

Fury was eyeing him with a kind of resigned irritation. "Okay, Stark, you've made your point. You're in. So, where do we look?"

 

Left isolated on the Greenway, Steve had become all too aware that people were playing 'spot-the-superhero' and felt incredibly self-conscious and exposed to every cell phone in the vicinity. He shifted his shield to his left arm and was wondering if he ought to exercise his rusty PR skills when the realised that the powerful man in the dark suit making his way as casually as he could – which wasn't very – through the growing crowds was not only vaguely familiar but someone he recognised – Tony's chauffeur-cum-bodyguard who had been introduced to him simply as 'Happy'.

Seeing he had been noticed, the chauffeur caught his eye and inclined his head slightly.

 _You'll be picked up,_ Tony had told him.

So that meant, "Follow me."

Steve did so, trying to make it seem he wasn't doing exactly that.

 

A long limo with darkened windows drew up at the kerb, and the passenger door slid back, allowing Steve to leap inside and escape the cell phones. Happy, in the driver's seat, was already signalling to pull out into the traffic.

"You're tough on motorbikes, Captain," he observed, though his eyes did not move from the road.

"You can thank your boss for my losing this one," Steve shot back.

"Mr Stark has no respect for motor vehicles – or, at least, for other people's motor vehicles," Happy replied, without even a flicker of a smile. Steve was beginning to suspect the nickname was ironic. "Ms Potts now, she appreciates good cars and good driving."

"I'm sure she does," Steve muttered; he was not looking forward to meeting Pepper Potts.

 

Happy, bless him, drove directly into Tony's private garage from which Steve took the equally private elevator to the penthouse. He was squelching towards the guest suite he had been occupying, when the door to his left – the door to Tony's bedroom, though he had never been through it – opened and a woman's voice said, "Tony, is that—oh."

The woman who stepped out in front of him was tall and slender with strawberry-blonde hair in a slightly untidy chignon and a dusting of freckles not at all disguised by her minimal make-up. She was wearing a skirt short enough to make Steve to avert his eyes, though not before he had taken in the shapeliness of her legs or that she was barefoot and so even taller than he had supposed. Unfortunately, raising his eyes meant he saw that her striped cotton blouse was unbuttoned far enough to reveal the top curves of her breasts. 

Then her expression of shock and suspicion vanished in a friendly smile. "Captain America. Jarvis told me you'd left the building and Tony had gone to find you. Was there trouble?"

Steve shoved the cowl back from his face and tried to smooth down his hair, which he knew must be a mess. "We had a small problem, ma'am," he said, not sure how to describe the recent encounter with the ornithopter in an unalarming manner – though if Miss Potts lived with Tony she must be used to alarms. "Tony's gone to talk to Director Fury about it." He bit his lip in annoyance with himself, unsure if Miss Potts knew anything at all about Fury or SHIELD.

The said Miss Potts – and he was sure now it must be Miss Potts – gave a small exasperated sigh. "You mean he's deliberately pissing him off. You're well out of that, Captain, though being a spectator can be fun and seeing Tony lose occasionally is always worthwhile." She offered her hand. "I'm Pepper Potts."

Steve peeled off his glove to take it. "Steve Rogers. It's good to meet you, Miss Potts."

Her handshake was firm, but her blue eyes assessed him without revealing her conclusions. "Pepper, please, Captain."

"Then, fair trade, Pepper, I have to be Steve," he said, which made her laugh, and that was delightful.

She said, as if noticing it for the first time, "You're wet."

"I took a bath in the bay. I daresay Happy is still trying to dry the car seat. Does he have another name by the way? I didn't like to ask him."

"He's Horace Hogan, but stick with Happy. I do. And if you took a dip in the bay you definitely need a shower. The Hudson's polluted. Go, go get showered and changed. I'll get dinner. You must be famished. Tony might even be back by then. Steak and fries and a salad?

"That would be great, ma'a— Pepper."

"Good boy," Pepper said, with an impish smile it was impossible not to return. "Off you go."

 

When he returned to the kitchen he found Pepper, now clad in shorts even shorter than her skirt had been, a Stark Industries t-shirt and a chef's apron, checking the temperature of the deep fat fryer. Suddenly, she looked much younger and light-hearted, though still as efficient.

"Can I help?" he asked.

"Help yourself to beer or whatever you want from the cooler, then sit down and talk to me. How d'you like your steak?"

"Medium, thank you, Pepper." Steve said, staring at a range of beers, none of which he recognised, and selecting a Samuel Adams Pilsner as a compromise between patriotism and the European beers he had grown to like seventy years ago. He popped the cap and found a tumbler before taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

For a moment there was silence, except for cooking noises, then Pepper said, "Tony was worried when you went off-radar."

Steve grinned. "No-one goes off Tony Stark's radar." He paused and shook his head. "You know, for me, a year ago radar was still pretty much top secret and now it's an idiom."

"You left your cell switched off so he was tracking you via your bank account and credit cards – and you hadn't used either for nearly a month."

What? Pepper wasn't talking about today, but about that period when he had been wandering randomly across America trying to find... he didn't know. Except that he hadn't found it.

"The Black Widow warned me that a cell can be tracked by many people, including SHIELD. And I didn't want to be more of a burden on Tony than I had to be. He'd already staked me, and the others. I didn't want to get any deeper in his debt."

Pepper turned to look at him directly. "Steve, he wouldn't understand that. The money's not even small change to him. What is important to him are the Avengers. He isn't willing to let go of you all anymore than he's willing to let go of Iron Man. What's more he's never liked SHIELD or Director Fury; keeping you, Natasha and Clint Barton off SHIELD's payroll is another way of thumbing his nose at both. He'd've tried to detach Phil, too, if he'd still been alive. And if he could bring Thor back from Asgard, he would."

"So would I." Steve meant it, but thought it odd that Pepper was now concentrating so completely on the steaks. And that she didn't mention Bruce. "You knew Phil Coulson?"

Pepper hesitated for a moment, and Steve got the impression she was weighing her words. "He was a good friend and I had a lot to thank him for. My life, and Tony's."

Steve would give a lot to hear that story, but he didn't know Pepper well enough to ask, and mention of Coulson still brought an angry response from Tony. There was something he wanted to know that he could ask her, though, given that answer. "I would have liked to have gone to his funeral but I guess I can't complain as I was deliberately out of touch. What about you? And the other Avengers?"

"I went with Tony, but I think he thought it was too dangerous for any of you. According to him, the place was crawling with SHIELD and FBI and CIA and DOD and for all I know Department of Agriculture agents. Certainly there were a lot of people with dark suits that bulged in odd places, sunglasses, and bits of equipment stuck in their ears. No doubt they all supposedly knew Phil and all had equally good reasons to be there, but I felt incredibly out of place. Tony, of course, revelled in getting in everyone's face." She sighed. "I think Phil would have loved to watch that, if nothing else. But it really puzzled Claire – the woman he'd been dating."

"I would have risked being there."

"Which is why Tony made no attempt to let you – or anyone else – know. I have no doubt that his conversation with Natal—Natasha and Agent Barton is going to be uncomfortable."

Steve grinned. "Guess they were there – probably in disguise."

Pepper's returned smile was thin. "I don't think Natasha enjoys taking unnecessary risks, the way Tony does."

That's the Howard in him, Steve thought, but had already learned better than to say so aloud, whether to Tony or to Tony's friends, so he turned the conversation to the ridiculously eclectic art – some superb modern pieces, some quite horrible kitsch – scattered about the penthouse, already aware that the former represented Pepper's taste and the latter Tony's. By the end of the meal they were chatting, if not like friends, then like people learning to enjoy each other's company.

Tony still had not returned but assuming that, when he did, he and Pepper would want some time alone, Steve excused himself and went back to his suite. For a while he watched the news on TV, then, disgusted, switched on his tablet and checked the news sites on the net. They were worse.

The TV comedies and dramas turning out to be mainly incomprehensible, he was wondering if there were any real books in the penthouse when Jarvis spoke, making him jump:" Mr Stark is in the workshop, Captain. He requests that you join him there." That was, in Steve's opinion, a Jarvis translation of, "Get Rogers down here, pronto."

All the same, intrigued and no longer bored, Steve said, "Sure, tell him I'm on my way," and headed for the elevator.

 

Steve had spent a good deal of time in Tony's workshop over the last week, but this was the first time he had seen the floor littered with half a dozen large packing crates, with Tony was hammering down the lid on one of them in time to the heavy beat of what Steve could not bear to call music. When that stopped abruptly, he grinned at Steve. "Hi, Cap. I see Pep didn't throw you out.

"Miss Potts is plainly much too polite to throw anyone out."

Tony snorted. "Oooh, boy. She must be really taken with you. Didn't you know that when she was my PA one of her jobs was to evict any wom— anyone who had outstayed their welcome?

Steve wasn't sure what to make of that, but Tony was never bothered by the lack of a reply. "This is one of your 'bombs'," he said, lifting the lid of the case to show one of the spheres from the ornithopter cradled in packing.

"Does Fury know you have that?" Steve asked.

"He probably suspects, but I hid this one in the mud some distance from the ornithopter before reporting to him."

"What are you going to do with it?" Steve queried uneasily.

"I'm not going to do anything. I'm going to hand it over to experts. Want to come with me?"

"Where?"

"Wait and see. Meanwhile, make that super-soldier strength useful and help me shift these crates to the loading bay."

 

The next morning it became clear, very quickly, that, wherever they were going, Tony intended that no one could track them there.

When Steve woke he found a military duffle bag sitting just inside the door.

"Good morning, Captain," Jarvis's voice said. "Mr Stark asks that you pack enough clothes for several days, but informs you that it will be warm and that you have no need of formal clothing."

"I don't have any formal clothing."

"I believe that if you look in your closets you will find that is not the case, Captain. I am afraid you will have to leave your shield. Smuggling that past airport security may be beyond even Mr Stark's powers. If it makes you happier, he is leaving the suitcase armour behind."

"Actually, that makes me more nervous," Steve said.

"That is possibly wise, Captain. All the same, leaving it behind is inevitable, given current levels of airport security and your need for anonymity. Mr Stark expects you in the security office at the loading bay in one hour."

"Tony's out of bed?"

"He will be," Jarvis said primly.

 

When Steve reached the security office dead on time, he found it empty except for a dark haired man in a smart navy blue uniform with a lot of gold on the sleeves. A military style cap lay on the desk next to his feet, and his face was buried in a mug.

Then the man put down the mug and looked directly at him. It was not until one of the heavy eyebrows went up in a characteristic gesture that he recognised him.

"You've shaved," he said, stupidly.

"It's an amazingly good disguise," Tony told him, plainly pleased with the effect.

"Will you grow it back?" Steve asked, surprising himself by realising that it _mattered_.

"Yeah, sure, grows like weeds. Disguising you is a bit more difficult, but change into this uniform, and wear the hat and tinted specs at all times. Lucky your hair's so short now – if you apply this brown eyebrow pencil I stole from Pepper, no one will realise you're blond."

"What is this uniform?" Steve asked, as he climbed into it.

"Cargoflow Airlines pilot."

"I'm not a pilot."

"I am," Tony replied. "I just wish that they'd never filmed _Catch Me If You Can_ or at least cast someone other than Leo as Abagnale, because then no-one would have noticed how easy it was to be a pilot when you weren't, and the airlines wouldn't have tightened their internal checks and I wouldn't have had to be so free with the bribes. C'mon, let me do the eyebrows. Please? I've watched Pep often enough."

"No thank you," Steve said, plucking the eyebrow pencil from Tony's hand and peering into the mirror hung on the wall facing the door. He tested the pencil (which was more like a crayon) on paper, then the back of his hand, before colouring his brows with neat strokes.

"Spoilsport. For that, I won't let you fly the plane." 

 

Things got more complicated after that, as everything involving Tony seemed to do. They sat in the back of the van and were driven to an airport (Steve thought it might be Idlewild, now confusingly known as JFK, which were the initials, he'd learned, of an assassinated president), where they disembarked in a deserted cargo bay besides a truck with its doors standing wide. They transferred their bags and the cargo crates from the van into the truck and closed the doors on it. Half an hour later they were in the air.

 

They changed planes and identities three times at three different airports (one tiny and possibly illegal) but never leaving airside or being separated from the crates for more than ten minutes, though apparently said crates had also changed identities.

Even a couple of weeks ago, Steve might have thought this was paranoia, but now he wasn't so sure. What was more, he didn't dare ask Tony, in case it endangered their cover. After all, he hadn't believed it possible for Tony to remain silent for more than a few minutes, yet they hadn't exchanged even a dozen words since leaving Stark Tower.

Besides, he had a suspicion who they were going to meet, a suspicion that was confirmed when they landed at a small airport not far out of Tulsa, changed into nondescript coveralls and picked up a delivery truck onto which they loaded the crates from Tony's workshop.

Tony took the wheel and they left the airport with only a perfunctory check of their papers. And then it was Tony who broke the silence, picking up almost exactly where he had left off hours before. "So, you and Pepper. You got on okay?"

"Didn't you ask her?"

"Of course. She said that you were a very polite young man – that's good for a ninety-something old man, right? – and that you ate a lot and had better taste in art than I do."

"Tony, nearly everyone has better taste in art than you do. So, where are we going?"

"Nope. Not going to spoil the surprise." And Tony proceeded to talk about everything from automatic gear boxes to the history of spaceflight as they climbed into the hills.

 

It was, however, as the truck bounced down the ramp behind the earth wall of the strangely intact barn on the deserted farm and into the tunnel beyond that Steve suddenly burst into delighted laughter. 

"My God," he said. "It's a secret base. Just like in the comics. Howard had a secret base. What did he do here, Tony?"

"He didn't do anything, as far as I know," Tony said, as they came out into sunlight in a steep sided valley. "Possibly he was never here at all. It may have been somewhere to retreat if the USA was attacked by the Soviets or if the government decided to shut down his operations. It may have been somewhere to have a team conduct research he didn't want anyone to know about. It was owned by him, personally, not by Stark Industries and it had been shut down long before his death. Ah," he added, as a group of low, earth coloured buildings with what appeared to be turfed roofs came into sight, "here we are." The truck passed through open garage doors and came to a halt in what was clearly a storage area.

As Tony and Steve climbed out, there was a high-pitched screech, and a petite brunette came racing from behind a row of storage racks to fling herself into Tony's arms.

He swung her round with apparent delight. "Jan! How's my favourite grad-student/fashion designer?"

"Tony! I almost didn't recognise you without the face-fuzz. Is this permanent?"

"Why, don't you like me bare-faced?"

"You need to keep the beard for the evil overlord look. Otherwise people will start trusting you and then where will we be?"

Tony burst out laughing, more carefree than Steve had yet to see him. "Jan, I want you to meet Steve Rogers. Steve, this is Janet Van Dyne; heiress, playgirl, biochemist and fashion designer. Or did you sell the fashion business?"

"No, I didn't." Janet smiled impishly at Steve. "I'm making too much money from it." Her brow wrinkled. "Steve Rogers? Are you kidding me, Tony?"

"Huh? Didn't Bruce fill you in?"

"Bruce... er... definitely did." Banner himself shambled across from the doorway, but the hug he gave Steve was hard and warm. "It's good to see you. Is Tony behaving himself?" 

"Naturally not," Tony told him, punching Bruce rather too hard on the shoulder. "Stop molesting Steve."

Steve didn't feel molested. If anything, he didn't want Bruce to let go – it had been, he figured, some seventy years since someone had touched him with anything like affection.

But Bruce drew back and gave Tony a stern look, which, of course, had no apparent effect. Indeed, Tony was on his toes and almost bouncing with excitement. "Got another present for you and Hank, kiddies. Steve, could you carry that crate for me – no, that one – and we'll go see our resident biochemical genius."

 

The 'resident biochemical genius' was Dr Henry Pym – Hank, apparently, to everyone – a surprisingly powerful man in his thirties; blond, handsome and intense. Jan's attention was focused on him immediately and exclusively. Bruce treated him with the utmost respect and Tony refrained from both poking and insulting him. The three male scientists went into an immediate huddle around the sphere.

"Let's leave them to it," Jan suggested. "I'd apologise for their rudeness, but it's not often I get a chance to show anyone what we're – what Hank, really – is doing. They won't even notice we're gone for hours."

"In a way it's kinda... nice... to be ignored," Steve said, as he followed Jan out of the lab.

"Honey, I'm pretty sure that you'll never be ignored – not when there are hetero women or gay men around."

"Uh." Steve wasn't sure what he should say to that.

"I'm sure that neither Pepper Potts nor Tony has been ignoring you – and I certainly won't, particularly if I can make Hank jealous," she added, with a grin. "Not that that'll work when there's a scientific problem to be solved." She stopped outside a door and rose up on tiptoe to let some sort of mechanism scan her eyes. "And Tony provides those in quantity."

The door slid open at her touch, allowing them access to a large, windowless, blindingly white room.

Laid out on the floor was a thirty foot disarticulated model of one of the giant Chitauri spacecraft that had come streaming through the Tesseract portal.

"Did you and Hank make this?" Steve asked, in admiration. "The workmanship is incredible."

Jan was grinning. "You don't understand, sweetie. That's the real thing. Tony used some of his secret tech to shift it out of Manhattan and Hank shrank it down to about a foot and brought it here in a helicopter. We decided that this is the best size to work—"

" _Shrank it_?" He stared into her face, seeing nothing but amusement there. "You're joshing me."

"Nope. Changing the size of things is Hank's speciality – he's developed something I'm calling Pym particles that...uh... Think of it this way: you know that everything is made up of atoms and molecules, right? And atoms and molecules are, well, mainly empty space. So, the Pym particles shrink the spaces between the electron shells and the nucleus, and also have an effect on mass that's much harder to explain because I don't understand it myself. I don't have the math. Tony might, I guess. He's got a doctorate in math and a natural talent for applied math – apart, of course, from being nearly as much of a genius as Hank."

Steve was getting the impression that, in Jan's opinion, no one was quite as much of a genius as Hank. He himself reserved judgement; he had had Tony's brilliance demonstrated to him much more convincingly, and Tony himself had the highest regard for Bruce's work.

"Would the process work on people?" he asked.

Jan's eyes had narrowed. Suddenly, she looked like the scientist she undoubtedly was. "We don't know. It worked beautifully on this—" She waved a hand at the glittering object laid out on the floor. "—which was living, sort of, though silicon-based. But the results of testing on lab animals haven't been so good. Sometimes they shrink out of sight and we never see them again, sometimes they shrink and shoot back to their normal size – or, occasionally, larger – within seconds. What's really worrying is that the more intelligent the creature, the more likely something is to go wrong. Luckily, we don't have any primates, and I won't let Hank go looking for stray dogs."

"Perhaps that's for the best," Steve suggested. "As it stands, it's going to revolutionise logistics."

Jan shook her head. "Hank won't rest until it works on humans," she said. "I have a theory – but that's our problem, not yours. You solved yours." She was looking at the shrunken Chitauri war machine. "I wish I could have seen it," she said, unexpectedly, her eyes widening, blazing with passion. "The battle for New York, I mean, and those things slipping down through that wormhole, and you guys taking them on. Why didn't the people fight with you, Captain? How couldn't they?"

He had no doubt she meant it, would have fought the Chitauri with anything she could have laid hands on. Like Peggy.

Damn it, he had to stop comparing every woman he met to Peggy who had, with her usual pragmatism, fought through the rest of the war, changed agencies, changed again, helped set up SHIELD, become a high ranking agent, then head of the training section. The fact that the file had said nothing at all about her personal relationships suggested to Steve that whoever had compiled it had omitted that material to protect him.

"Some of them did," he said, in reply to Jan, "but they were overmatched."

"And you Avengers weren't?"

"Obviously not," Steve said. "Though Loki and his allies couldn't have expected to conquer the Earth with what we saw come through the portal."

"Shock and awe tactics," Jan said. "That worked so well in Iraq and Afghanistan – not."

"I don't know what happened in those places," Steve said, "but you push people into a corner and they stop playing by the rules. Like—"

Like the World Security Council and their nuke. 

Jan was looking at him shrewdly, but what she said was, "Rules are made to be broken: that's my motto."

"Is that how you got to be a – what was it Tony said? – an 'heiress, playgirl, biochemist and fashion designer'?"

"Well, it does explain my few years of attempted playgirling, though I couldn't've done that without the heiress bit, which is down to my parents' business sense, except the part where they left all the money and stocks to me. Dad was responsible for my majoring in chemistry – he was a distinguished research chemist himself." 

"And he hoped you'd follow him?" Steve suggested.

Jan shrugged in response.

It was enough to confirm his guess. "But you wanted to be a fashion designer, right?"

"Yeah."

"I can sympathise," Steve told her. "I wanted to be a commercial artist, but the war got in the way."

Jan smiled at him. "I rather thought you got in the way of the war, hon. When it came to it, Dad backed me to the hilt, sent me to Paris, Rome and London to study, and financed my business. It was successful, too. I think he was proud of me. He said he was proud of me..." She was blinking rapidly, and Steve was sure there were tears in her eyes.

"And then you met Hank?" he said, hurriedly, to divert her, with a smile to take any sting out of it.

"I met Hank," Jan admitted. "Financing his work wasn't enough to make him see me as a partner. So I went back to college."

"But that doesn't explain how you ended up in this place. Was it because of Bruce?"

Jan shook her head. "Tony called in a favour from me and bribed Hank with Chitauri tech and Bruce's help. We'd already moved to a secure Stark facility after Hank made his big breakthrough. We'd been approached by some dangerous people, and after my father was murdered in his lab I—" She stopped, and shook her head. "You are really too easy to talk to, you know."

Steve looked down at his feet, then gathering his courage, up to meet Jan's eyes. "It's easy to be a good listener when you never know what to say to girls."

"You're fine. Being listened to by Captain America is really flattering. All you need to do is learn to flirt a little. Watch Tony. He flirts with everything."

"He doesn't flirt with me," Steve protested.

Jan smiled mysteriously and said, "It must be seriously annoying to Tony that you don't notice." Then, before he could reply, she glanced at her watch. "Is that the time? We might even have been missed. Let's go find out."

 

The sphere from the ornithopter now sat in a transparent isolation tank, its surface covered with various sensors, so it looked like nothing so much, Tony considered, as one of those ridiculous pieces of modern art of which Pepper was so fond.

"This'll give us some preliminary data," Hank said. "Meanwhile, Tony, is this the only thing you brought with you, apart from Captain America, who seems to have vanished, by the way?"

"Jan dragged him off when we started to technobabble," Tony told him. "Probably wants to tell him what you've found out about the Chitauri tech, and incidentally show off the Pym process."

Hank nodded. "We need to go over my results together, Tony. Mechanical life is a quite astonishing achievement, though the Chitauri aren't so different from humans if the first thing they do with it is build In weaponry."

"Or maybe the Chitauri _are_ weaponry; you think of that?" Tony retorted.

Hank blinked at him, and Bruce flung up his hands in a gesture of despair.

Tony took a breath to steady himself, with a mental reminder that he needed Hank. "The truck," he said. "Two crates. Both marked 'Electronic Equipment'. Your original is the Mark 1, my revised version is Mark 2. I've tweaked the electronics—"

"Thank you. Thank you. I didn't expect you to build them. I... uh... I'll just go and check them out." Hank was moving reasonably slowly as he started for the door, but by the time he reached it he was running.

Tony's eyes met Bruce's. "What is Jan getting herself into?"

"They're good," Bruce said. "She manages him, he puts the brakes on her impulsiveness. And he really didn't mean to offend you, Tony. Not all talk of building weapons is a reference to your past."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony said. "I really don't care what Hank thinks of my past."

Bruce fiddled with the pencil in his hands, his eyes on the computer screens, "Yeah. Well, how are you and Steve getting along now?"

It wasn't really a change of subject, and it irritated Tony more than it should have done. "We're getting along fine," he said sharply. "Bringing him up to speed on the modern world; man has a lot to catch up with."

"I thought that was what SHIELD was doing before you extracted him from its grasp."

"Fury's an idiot. Cap needs challenging, not babying."

"Don't push too hard, Tony," Bruce warned. "He's emotionally fragile."

"He broods if he's left to his own devices," Tony said crisply. "He's also got a nasty case of PTSD, though that's hardly surprising. Jarvis and I are keeping an eye on it."

"When I said I was worried about Steve being on his own, I didn't expect you to adopt him."

"I didn't," Tony protested. "But we're good – a good team, I mean. Saved each other's lives, yaddah yaddah. Someone's after the Avengers, or at least me and Steve. We watch each other's backs. Nat and Clint have each other. Jan keeps an eye on you for me – and, I suspect, Betty Ross."

"I suspect you suspect right. Though Betty ought to move on."

"Yeah. Just as you have."

Bruce winced.

"But I'm having trouble figuring out who's behind all this."

"You checked on Ross?"

"General Ross? Who just missed out being your father-in-law? We've met. I had the pleasure of throwing him out of a bar I'd just bought."

"Why did you buy a bar, Tony?" Bruce asked, with the resigned air of a man who knows he is feeding someone a straight line.

"So I could throw Ross out of it, what else?" Tony replied blandly. "I do not like Ross, but I hadn't considered him. He's fixated on the other guy, not me or Steve."

"He's fixated on the super-soldier process, which makes Steve a target. After all, he's the only one it ever worked on. And, then, of course, there's your father's work."

Tony rolled his eyes. 

"No, seriously, Tony, if your father kept notes..."

"If he did, I never found them. And he never had access to the full Erskine process."

"He built the vita-ray machine," Bruce pointed out.

"And gamma rays weren't vita rays," Tony said. "If they were, you wouldn't turn large and green. Besides, Dad and Erskine would have called them gamma rays because, you know, they were scientists and knew these things."

"Betty and I thought that might have been a cover story."

"If it was, it's one that's solid after seventy years," Tony growled. "Then there's SHIELD—"

"What's SHIELD?" Jan asked from the door, Steve hovering at her back.

"SHIELD's trouble," Tony said. "Hank wouldn't like them. They build WMDs and have political masters who use them."

"Might they have been the people who tried to steal the Pym process?"

Bruce and Tony exchanged glances, but it was Steve who replied; "They'd certainly be interested in it."

"Then you'd better tell me about them."

 

"And," Bruce was saying, "Fury had had a cage prepared—" when he was interrupted by a shrill beeping.

What's that?" Steve was balancing on the balls of his feet, ready to move fast if necessary.

"Secure signal from Stark Tower," Bruce said, his eyebrows up as he looked at Tony.

"Must be Jarvis. No one else even knows the connection exists, let alone where we are."

Bruce leaned across and tapped a touchscreen. 

"Yes?" Tony asked.

"Sir," the voice of Jarvis said. "The War Machine has entered the workshop in Stark Tower. Lieutenant-Colonel Rhodes expected to find you there, and is most upset that you are not. He refuses to believe that Ms Potts does not know your current location and he knows, of course, that I am lying when I tell him that I do not."

"I'll speak to him, Jarvis. Voice only. Wait until I give the word." Tony glanced round. "I'd appreciate it if you let me handle this. Without commentary."

"Would we?" Steve asked, with a grin.

"No, you'd just ask questions – but I don't want him to know you're here, so button it, Rogers."

Bruce looked startled, and shot an uneasy glance at Steve, only to see the grin widen, then disappear as Steve made a zipping motion over his lips with one hand.

Tony was laughing as he hitched a hip onto the edge of the laboratory bench and said, "Okay, Jarvis. Put him on."

"Tony," Rhodes's voice said from the speakers. "Where the hell are you?"

"My, we're grouchy. You can't always expect to find me where you left me, Mr Grump. I have people to see, research to do, a company to run—"

"Pepper runs your company. How come she says doesn't know where you are?"

"Because I knew people would ask her and I didn't want her to have to lie to them," Tony said cheerfully. "What's so urgent, Rhodey? I'll be back in New York in a couple of weeks."

"A cou— I need to see you now, man. I've got messages I can't—"

But no one, not even Tony, was listening to what Rhodes was saying any longer. Steve had started to move even before the door to the lab was flung wide, setting himself between Tony and the strange figure in the opening, outlined by the bright light behind it.

It was almost human, but with a head far too big for its body, a massive jaw and sprouting antennae. The floor around its feet appeared to be moving, a living black carpet spilling into the room.

Jan started forwards, but Steve's hand closed on her arm, holding her back.

"It works!" the figure yelled, and it was Hank Pym's voice.

"My God," Bruce said. "Hank's gotten into a teleporter with a fly."


	8. Puzzles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both Rhodey and Tony react badly, and some secrets are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of off-stage death of non-MCU Marvel characters.

"But we haven't even got a teleport," Hank wailed.

"Hank!" Jan was exasperated. "What have I told you about keeping your ant colonies confined to their tanks?"

"I don't need to any more. I'm in control. What do you want me to do? Have them spell out 'No Kill I' on the floor?"

"You haven't got the queens there, have you?"

Steve was looking helplessly at Tony, mouthing, "Why?" at him.

But Tony was laughing so hard that he couldn't even attempt to reply. Instead, he leaned against the solidity that was Steve to hold himself upright as his body shook with mirth. And he'd infected Steve, who couldn't have understood either joke, because he was laughing too.

Bruce was also grinning, possibly at his own joke, possibly at Hank, who had taken a couple of steps into the room, careful of the carpet of ants at his feet, to reveal that the insect-like head was, in fact, a helmet with antennae and a jaw-encircling comms unit – a fact which Tony knew because he had built it for him.

"What is going on there, Stark?" Rhodey's voice howled from the air.

"Nothing," Tony gasped, trying to restrain a fit of giggles. "Nothing, punkin'. Just... just... some experimental animals escaping."

"Where the hell are you?"

Still hanging onto Steve to give himself some basis in reality, Tony hiccupped, then said, "Hmm. Research lab."

"Here in the Tower? Which one?"

"Rhodey, Stark International is a multi-national company, with research labs in most of them, plus we fund research in more than a score of universities—"

"So you're not here and won't tell me where you are."

Rhodey sounded so angry and so near to desperation, that Tony sobered. Hank, meanwhile, had been silenced by the unfamiliar voice from the speakers, and Bruce and Jan were looking abashed. Jan moved to Hank's side, the carpet of ant splitting into two to let her pass, and began to whisper to him. Tony hoped the room microphones weren't sensitive enough to pick up whatever she was saying.

Talking slightly louder than he would normally have done in order to mask her words if, by chance, it did, Tony said, "I'm showing an associate around a research facility in which he has some investment." Even if it was an emotional rather than a financial one. "And, Colonel Rhodes, I have to tell you that this is not making a good impression." He made a desperate attempt to avoid Steve's eyes, but could not escape his inappropriate grin. It fuelled the anger he was already feeling.

And why was Rhodey so damn annoyed that he hadn't been in the Tower? And why, indeed, had he been so sure that Tony would be there? There was only one answer. "Why have you been spying on me?" he demanded.

"I haven't. But of course people are watching you, Tony. You're important."

"And dangerous? I am aware of that. But I am shocked, so shocked, that you thought I couldn't evade surveillance, I really am." The complex evasion strategy had been necessary against SHIELD's advanced surveillance techniques, but, apparently, they weren't the only people watching him.

"And Captain America? Is he still in Stark Tower? Or has he 'evaded surveillance' too?"

The out-of-left-field mention of Cap rang loud alarm bells. Tony remembered his earlier conversation with Rhodey on that subject all too well. "I don't keep track of his whereabouts," he lied. From Rhodes's snort and Steve's expression neither of them believed him.

"You mean you won't tell me."

"I mean that if I did know I wouldn't tell you. Because that is not your business. Or mine."

"It's the Pentagon's business," Rhodes shot back, confirming Tony's worst fears and feeding his growing sense of betrayal. Rhodey could, at least, have given him a heads-up before arriving at the Tower.

"So you're acting as their lackey right now?" he spat.

"I'm acting as your friend, Tony. Now we're under threat from alien invaders the super-soldier technology is as vital to our defence policy as your weapons, and you're withholding both. There are going to be consequences and I won't be able to protect you."

"The last alien invaders were dealt with without the Pentagon's assistance. I gave Velasco his transport units, and don't try to tell me he hasn't been taking them apart. I bet he's also one of the engineers who've been trying to figure out your suit," Tony added, shrewdly. "They really should have taken a look at the repulsor patents."

"They have," Rhodes shot back. "Of course they have. But the repuslors in the suit and the transport units have almost nothing in common with your repulsor patents and, according to Velasco, those shouldn't have been granted in the first place because, and I quote, 'Physics doesn't work that way.'"

"Maybe that's the fault of modern day physics," Tony retorted. "You want me to upgrade your weapons, Rhodey? Just leave the suit in the Tower workshop—"

"Nope. Not falling for it."

"You think I won't give it back?" Though he was considering the idea right now. "I'm hurt by your lack of trust. Not that you're encouraging me to trust you—"

"Damn it, Tony!" Rhodes shouted. "Velasco and I persuaded the government to give you this one last chance to cooperate—"

"Or what?" Tony felt a hand on his shoulder, and knew it was Bruce. He shook it off angrily. "Invade Stark Tower? Or was it the government who just tried that? And failed."

"That wasn't the US government, Tony," Rhodes protested.

"Do you know that? Or do you just hope it?"

"At least I'm loyal to my country!"

The rage building inside Tony exploded. "So it's 'my country right or wrong' now? Even when you're working for unelected thieves? Jarvis! See that Colonel Rhodes leaves the Tower without taking anything with him, then revoke his privileges."

"Yes, sir," Jarvis acknowledged.

"If that's the way you want it," Rhodes growled. "On your own head be it."

"That's the way you've made it, _buddy._ Stark out."

There was silence for what seemed like a long time. Tony glared at each of his companions in turn, daring them to comment.

Fuck it, he should never have let Rhodey keep the suit – but they were friends, they had fought together, saved each others' lives, and he had been so delighted with it...

It was Bruce who broke the silence. "Something wrong with modern theoretical physics, Stark?" He sounded curious rather than sceptical.

"Says the man who turns green because of the action of gamma rays," Tony snapped. "So maybe you should be the one who thinks there is something wrong with modern theoretical physics."

"It's not really your field."

"Nor my work," Tony's rage was beginning to drain way, leaving emptiness in its place.

What had he done?

He said, more calmly, "About ten years ago I came across a paper buried in one of the more obscure journals. It was several years old even then, and the ideas were so way out, there were so many gaps and so much arrogance displayed that it had been pretty much ignored by the scientific community. But it bugged me. There were parts of it that almost made sense – and those parts gave me ideas that led to the repulsor tech."

"Who wrote it?" Bruce asked, his voice still even. "Why haven't I heard of him and his work?"

Tony decided to answer the second question first. "Because he built what you might call a backyard rocket," he said impatiently. "He somehow persuaded a test pilot friend of his to captain it, went into orbit with a couple of other scientists along just in the time for a massive solar flare. None of them made it back."

Jan was nodding. "Doctor Reed Richards. I knew his fiancée, Susan Storm. She was on that rocket too. Her brother Johnny went into the Air Force and is now in astronaut training with NASA."

"Richards had a definite reputation," Hank agreed. "Wasn't there a headline in _Time_?' Genius or madman? You decide.'"

Jan stood on his foot, hard, making him yelp, but the damage had been done.

"They've said much the same about you and me – and Bruce too – or if they haven't then they certainly will," Tony retorted. "But they're all too fucking ready to _use_ us." He shrugged, but failed in his attempt at studied casualness as he added, "I thought Rhodes was better than that."

Steve had so far kept silence, because Bruce seemed to have a better handle on defusing Tony's anger than he did and he was reluctant to put the tender shoots of his partnership with Iron Man in jeopardy. If Tony could react with such anger to the man who he'd allowed to keep the stolen War Machine armour, despite the ever-present danger of that technology being accessed by people he undoubtedly – and correctly – mistrusted, he might also react badly to what sounded like criticism from someone he'd known for so short a time. But the other man's pain was all too evident, and he could no longer stand idly by. "Tony, have you thought this out?" he asked tentatively. "Rhodes was between a rock and a hard place. He didn't have a choice."

Tony rounded on him with an expression of what Steve could have sworn was relief. "Everyone has a fucking choice, Rogers! He made his bed, now he can lie in it!"

"I'm not defending him, Tony. But you've never been a soldier, which I was and he is. Sometimes, as a soldier, you have to obey a legal order, even if you hate doing it."

"Did you never refuse to obey an order, Cap?" Tony snarled. "'Cos that's not the way I heard it from Dad. He said you always did what you thought was right, and damn the consequences. That's why you're here, and not on the helicarrier."

Inwardly, Steve winced. Apparently some of Howard's stories had been all too accurate. "Phillips protected me – because right then, the US needed me. Your friend follows orders or loses his career, at the least. And if some lawyer can swing it so refusing that order sounds like treason, he could end up in Leavenworth."

Tony took a couple of steps towards Steve, hands clenching into fists. "It was his choice to put himself at the mercy of the Air Force. I've asked him to quit and work for me often enough – and he knows whether he does or not he'll have the best legal protection that my money can buy. He also knows, better than you do, Rogers, _why_ I stopped making weapons – and why I allowed him to have the armour, despite that. Well, I won't make that mistake again." He took another step forward. Steve didn't move, stayed leaning casually against the lab bench, arms folded. If Tony took a swing at him, he could avoid it easily enough, but if it went that far, it was over, and he was on his own again.

He held Tony's eyes, staying completely quiet, unaggressive.

Tony swallowed. "As for you, Rogers," he said tightly, " _stay out of my business_." Then he turned on his heel and stormed out of the lab.

"Well, that didn't go well," Steve said. "Sorry, Bruce. I thought you'd gotten him calmed down enough to listen to reason, but— I'd better go apologise."

"No, let him be, Steve," Jan said firmly. "You were right – Jim Rhodes is vulnerable, a career officer who is considered too close to Tony and blamed by some folks at the Pentagon for 'letting' Tony quit the arms industry. The fact that he's also African-American is a... disadvantage... in dealing with some people too. Tony knows all this, and will remember it when he gets control of his temper."

 

Breathing hard, Tony slammed the door shut behind him and stepped away from the air-conditioned comfort into evening sunlight that slanted directly from the head of the valley as it fell to the west, bouncing from bare rock and reflecting blindingly off the water in the creek.

All he really wanted was to retreat to his lab and work off his anger and frustration, but he hadn't got a lab here, so he'd stomped out of the buildings into the valley and the weakening sunlight instead.

When he had flown here first in the Iron Man suit – which now had a stealth mode that Rhodey's bosses at the Pentagon would have sacrificed their pensions to acquire – he had found no clue as to the research that had been conducted here. Whatever Howard had had his people researching, he had been careful to leave no trace.

The place had been in surprisingly good order, the water (from the creek) still potable and the hydroelectric generator upstream still capable of producing electricity, though Tony had replaced it with an ARC reactor. He had only cleared one building – three labs, six bedrooms, a kitchen and a big rec room – and spent a day hauling in and installing up to date equipment. Once Hank and Jan had joined Bruce, it had become possible for them to pick up supplies from as far away as Oklahoma City, if necessary.

The other buildings stood in a sea of vegetation, without even a beaten track to mark their doors. Tony stared at the creek, eyes narrowed. Downstream of the buildings at what should have been the narrow mouth of the valley, it widened into a pool deep enough to swim in, and which was probably home to quite a few large fish. The remains of the rock fall that created the pool and blocked access to the valley was too convenient to be natural and Tony had little doubt that the water exited the pool through a tunnel – or possibly a series of tunnels far too small to be entered by an adult human – cut into the rock. Upstream the valley was even narrower, the creek running between sheer walls and the dark pines clinging to them.

What had Cap said? That this was Howard's secret base?

He'd been right that it was no ordinary facility.

Steve was too damn smart – and bound to side with Rhodey. Sure, Rhodes had had a difficult choice but that wasn't _Tony's_ fault...

Steve hadn't actually said that it was, had he?

But he sure as hell had implied it.

Or had he?

Tony shook his head to dismiss that thought and—

And he'd been wrong about the vegetation; it wasn't a uniform jungle. Some of it was shorter, and that shorter tangle of grasses and weeds that ran in two straight lines, a little wider than tyre tracks, towards the stretch of creek that lay in shadow under the face of a cliff, just before it entered the pool.

Well, now.

Howard, as Tony knew all too well, liked leaving puzzles for him to solve.

Suddenly feeling much more cheerful, Tony took the path someone – probably Bruce and Hank, under instruction from Jan – had cleared to allow access to the pool, then waded out into the grass until it came up to his knees rather than his waist.

Dropping to one knee, he pulled up a chunk of grass, then scraped away a little topsoil to reveal concrete beneath. Raising his head to the level of the pathway grass, it was easy to trace its course to the creek in the slanting evening light.

It looked as if the rock had slipped down along a vertical fault, dislodging a couple of trees which were now clinging desperately to footholds just above the waterline.

In the shadows it was easy to see deep into the creek and that the tracks he had been following ran just below the surface, crossing the creek to the tumble of rocks at the bottom of the cliffs.

Tony swore, but sat down, removed his sneakers and socks, rolled up his jeans, and waded out. The water was cold, soothing to his feet, but the concrete was covered in some sort of slime which was not just unpleasant but slippery. It was all Tony could do to stay upright, particularly as he was carrying his shoes and socks in one hand.

It took time, but he managed to reach the far side without a ducking. Thankfully, he scrambled clear of the water and into the scree accumulated downstream of the landslip.

Was this landslip as convenient as that blocking the valley mouth? And why had the track led here?

After replacing his sneakers – his feet might be wet but he needed the traction – Tony moved in close to the cliff, leaning against to the rock face, checking every bump and hollow. Eventually, he focused on a jagged crack running near vertically down the cliff from a couple of feet above his head to disappear into the stones under his feet.

Above, a small overhang blocked any view he might have had of the top of the crack, so he couldn't see if there was a horizontal crack coming to meet it, and, if so, from which side.

Convenient again.

Cautiously, he inserted his fingers into the crack. It went deep, and there seemed to be at least a small open space behind it. At least, it was possible to hook his fingers around the rock.

And pull.

Nothing. He shifted to the other side of the crack, gripped the rock and heaved.

The rock – moved.

Gritting his teeth, Tony put all his strength to the task. He was soon panting with the exertion, but half a dozen efforts opened the crack to maybe ten inches, and there it stuck.

Tony didn't hesitate for long. He turned sideways and wriggled through the opening.

And came out onto a metal platform edged by waist-high railings. In the faint light coming through the crack he could see a rocky roof a foot or so above his head and a short flight of steps, perhaps ten feet of them, leading downwards into – what? A cave? An underground lab? A missile silo?

Only one way to find out.

The steps clanged under his feet, the noise echoing madly around the chamber, but they were solid enough and there wasn't anyone to hear. They led into a circular chamber, with smooth concrete walls covering what was presumably rock. There was no sign of a way in or out, other than the stairway.

It must be hidden, much as the one in the valley wall had been.

The silence was broken by a loud mechanical grinding, with the hissing undertones of hydraulics, echoing horribly in the chamber.

Tony spun about, just in time to see the steps withdrawing into the rock. With a yell, he leaped upwards, aiming to boost himself off a half-withdrawn step. The strip of light from above vanished. He hit the wall, scrabbled for a hold, caught an edge with a toe, and then was falling back down into the dark.

He tried to roll in midair, with no idea where the floor was, and hit hard on his side, his head banging against the floor in reaction, all the breath driven out of his body.

When he finally managed to scramble to his knees, it was in total darkness.

Hurriedly, he pulled his T-shirt over his head, and sat down to let his eyes adjust to the blue-white light of the revealed ARC reactor.

He was going to be cold, but it was better than being blind—

The stairway had been replaced by a sheer cliff. He could just make out the outline of the platform above it, but from the sudden absence of light he was certain that that crack he had fought so hard to open had slammed shut.

It hadn't been the entrance to a secret lab or missile silo, but to a trap.

Was he meant to starve to death down here? He wouldn't put it past Howard.

Only, looking at the wall opposite the now-vanished stairway, he was now able to trace thin lines that seemed to mark the outline of a doorway, though it had no sign of hinges, lock or handles.

For the first time, he felt a faint touch of hope.

Too early for retinal patterns, he told himself. Fingerprints?

Running his hands up and down the rough concrete, he found five small indentations, and a much larger one lying below and half-enclosed by them.

Realistically, it was impossible that his fingerprints would work the mechanism, if, indeed, it had ever worked, but he still pressed his splayed hand into the depressions.

Nothing happened.

Not that he had really expected anything to happen.

With a sigh, Tony turned his back to the wall and slid down until he was sitting with his arms clasped around his knees.

Of course, if he was carrying his phone and if he could get a signal which was unlikely to say the least, he might have been able to call Steve or Bruce. However, that phone was sitting taking voicemail in the lab in Stark Tower, because it might be tracked by GPS.

And he didn't have a tablet or laptop with him.

What's more, his head was now aching hard enough to make thinking difficult. He dropped it down to rest on his knees and closed his eyes against the glow of the ARC reactor.

It was only then that he remembered that the whole complex had been shut down and mothballed in 1972. Whatever puzzle had been left, it hadn't been for him.

He always knew his father would be the death of him...

 

"Tony? Tony!" The voice was familiar and close at hand, and there was a hand on his shoulder. It shook him gently.

"Yeow!" The pain brought him awake with a near scream, and the hand dropped away.

Steve was kneeling beside him, his features ghostly in the light of the ARC reactor. "Thank God," he said. "I thought for a moment..." He stopped short, turning his head as the underground chamber was filled with the horribly familiar grinding noise. "What?" He lifted a flashlight Tony hadn't even realised he was holding and pointed it to illuminate the stairs concertinaing into the cliff and the lack of what had, undoubtedly, been an opening at the top of the stairs.

"Fuck," Tony said. If he'd been awake he could have warned Steve the instant he opened the crack in the rock. Now they were both trapped.

Steve turned back to Tony, apparently unconcerned by the disappearance of his escape route, and reached out to tip his head to one side and shine the flashlight on it. "It doesn't look too bad – though we need to get Bruce to take a look at you."

"Fat chance. We're trapped here."

Steve ignored that. "Did you pass out?" he asked.

"I'm not concussed, just pissed that I missed the chance of getting out of here," Tony retorted. "Well, at least now both of us are missing someone will eventually look for us."

Steve was looking around with interest, aiming the flashlight beam into the shadows but finding nothing but wall. "So this is a trap," he said. "Who set it?"

"Dad, almost certainly."

"Howard?" Steve frowned. "Howard set out to trap people and starve them to death? That hardly sounds likely. If he did, he must have been desperate to protect someone or something. He can hardly have meant to kill us."

"Well, he certainly didn't mean to kill _me_ when he set this—" Trap? Puzzle? Puzzle! "Steve," he said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Did my Dad have access to your fingerprints?"

"Probably."

"It's a wild chance, but – put your hand here." Tony snagged Steve's right wrist and guided his hand to the hollows in the concrete.

For a few moments, a few tight breaths, it seemed that nothing would happen, then something moved in the dim light of the ARC reactor, and a brighter, yellower glow spilled out from a widening doorway. Before Tony could say anything Steve was already in front of him, outlined against the light, stepping forward with complete confidence into whatever lay beyond.

Tony was right at his heels.

They were in a small laboratory; no doubt its design had once been futuristic, with a huge bank of computers that Tony calculated had about zero point two percent of the computing power of his StarkPhone. Other equipment was shrouded in dustsheets.

It wasn't a _Mary Celeste_. Everything was in its place, tidy, locked away, ready for use but not without a bit of recommissioning.

At least half the bulbs had blown some time in the past, so the place was only intermittently lit.

There was a double click that was vaguely familiar, then a voice – Howard Stark's voice – crackled from the overhead speakers: "Steve... Steve, I cannot believe in my heart that this tape will ever be activated by your fingerprints, but if you are here and listening to this it must mean that Erskine's serum kept you alive, as I hoped it would, and that someone eventually found you. If I am standing beside you at this moment you will already know what I am going to say, but I doubt that I could be that lucky. Besides, then I would have been the one to open the doors. Only two other people ever knew what was concealed here; one is Maria, my wife, the other is Margaret Grey – Peggy Carter as was. Maybe one of them sent you here.

"In this hidden lab I have stored the original Vita-ray equipment and its design specifications. Everyone thinks I destroyed it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, even though all my experiments show that, without the serum, it has no discernible effect. Now, though... now I no longer trust my own judgement. I'm putting my faith in yours."

"Christ Al – fucking - mighty!"

"Really, Tony," Steve said, in tones of mild disapproval.

"Steve, Bruce is going to blow his sta—"

But Howard hadn't finished. "The other important secret held here concerns your shield. As you are aware, the steel it is made of contains a new element. There are stories circulating, which I have encouraged, that the steel is natural and meteoric; this is not the case. The element – which I have not named for reasons which will now become clear – was given to me specifically for your use. And not by an American. It has spectacular properties. I have analysed its atomic structure and, perhaps, in the future, someone will be able to synthesise it. Or perhaps those with access to a natural source will make themselves known."

"Not a chance, apparently," Tony grumbled.

Steve gave him a sharp look.

"I believe them to be African," Howard continued, "and from a highly advanced civilisation. There are rumours of a hidden city. I've recorded the details in the file on your shield."

"Now _that's_ interesting," Tony said.

"Goodbye, Steve. Stay safe."

There was a sharp click, then silence.

Steve crossed the room to stand in front of a large shrouded piece of equipment whose shape he clearly recognised.

"Why didn't Howard destroy this himself?" he asked plaintively. "Why put it onto me? I don't have enough information about this time to make a correct decision."

"Because he was a coward," Tony said harshly. "Because he thought you were, and I quote him, 'the best and most moral man I ever met.'"

No wonder Tony doesn't like me, Steve thought. I've obviously been held up as some sort of paragon. Aloud, he said, "Well, if the five of us can't come to a unanimous decision—"

"Hold it. The five of us? It might be better not to tempt Bruce, and Hank and Jan aren't involved – even, that is, if we can find our way out of here."

Steve shook his head. "Tony, we can't keep this a secret from them: they already know where we are. Hank can talk to all ants, apparently, not just those in his lab, and understand them. That's how we found you. The ants told Hank about this place, and Bruce is standing by ready to call out the Hulk to smash his way in if you and I don't contact them in—" he looked down at his watch; "— thirteen minutes."

There was an expression on Tony's face that Steve had never seen before, except on Looney Tunes characters hit by falling anvils. Then he pulled himself together. "Okay. I guess we'd better try and find our way out of here – though I'd be wary of anything Dad had marked 'Exit'."

For once, Tony was proved wrong. An unlocked door opened into a tunnel, some ten feet wide, apparently running beneath the creek. Within fifty yards it started rising. A few feet further on they came across a control panel which Tony immediately recognised as similar to the one that lowered the ramp into the main tunnel leading from outside the valley to the laboratory complex. Seconds later, the wall at the end of the tunnel rolled to one side, and they walked out into the main tunnel to find themselves at the end of the ramp that led up into the storage complex. This was, plainly, the way Howard had used to bring in supplies.

Unable to find controls anywhere outside the spur tunnel, they left the 'door' open and went to find the others.

 

"...so, that's the situation," Steve said, having laid out the options in as few and simple words as possible. Tony found himself reluctantly impressed. "The final decision remains mine and Tony's, but—"

"What?" Tony was startled.

"Well, you own it, I guess, whatever Howard said about me."

"Are you sure the Vita-ray machine is no use without access to Erskine's lost serum?" Hank asked.

"According to Howard Stark, it doesn't affect anything at all," Steve confirmed. "I'm not sure why he thought it dangerous, if he did."

But had Howard reported the truth? Tony wondered. Perhaps there was something in the files...

"It may not be dangerous in itself." Bruce was looking abnormally grim. "But if I was still working on the super-soldier program and had gotten access to it I'd also be demanding access to Steve, to his blood and other tissue samples. And _that's_ why it's dangerous."

"You think you might be able to reverse-engineer the serum?" Tony wouldn't ever underestimate Bruce's genius.

"Is that really possible?" Steve asked, at the same moment.

"Whether it is or it isn't doesn't matter," Bruce answered; "the _possibility_ will get the military baying for Steve's blood – and I mean that quite literally."

"They already are," Tony said, knowing it for a fact. "That's why Hennis and his thugs were after Steve. They might even be considering cloning him, though that won't work unless the Erskine process actually changed his DNA. Maybe SHIELD can tell us. I will bet my fortune that they already have samples. Well, Cap?"

"They did medical tests on me when I first came round," Steve said slowly, "but nothing... excessive."

"But you have no idea what samples they took before you came round?"

Steve shook his head. "The first thing I remember is a mock up of a '40s room – but they got the detail wrong. The radio commentary was of a baseball game I'd actually attended." He paused, frowning. "I was too concerned with that, and my memories of the Red Skull, to take much notice, but I think the inside of my right arm was a little sore." He looked at each of them in turn and added, candidly, "I heal fast, since the serum."

"And have an eidetic memory," Bruce noted. He took a deep breath. "I vote to destroy it. And I say that as your friend, rather than a scientist. Though I should know just how damn dangerous the super-soldier technology can be."

"According to Betty, the military were willing to use Bruce's blood to produce something akin to the Hulk, which then ran amok in Harlem. Only the Hulk stopped it," Jan said.

"SSR were incredibly lucky with Steve," Tony agreed. "Can you imagine what the hawks in Congress and the Pentagon would do with a whole regiment of super-soldiers – a military super-hero squad?"

"Isn't that what the Avengers Initiative was meant to be?" Bruce asked dryly.

"Which is why we aren't 'marching to Fury's fife' any longer." Steve smiled reminiscently at Tony, who nodded.

"But the Vita-rays are a whole new area of study," Hank protested. "You can't destroy scientific discoveries—"

"This one has not been rediscovered for over seventy years," Tony said. "It may see us out."

"It's the Pym particles that'll win you your Nobel," Jan told him. "And controlling their use will be enough trouble, believe me, Hank, darling. Besides, I thought you were a pacifist?"

"It's the misuse of science I'm against," Hank muttered, then, looking round at a series of uniformly raised eyebrows, he added, "but I guess that's what you're trying to guard against. Okay. It goes against my instincts, but it's the logical thing to do."

"I've benefitted so much from the serum," Steve said, "that denying it to others, to my country, seems incredibly selfish. Then I remember that the Red Skull was also a result of something very like the serum. So, if we are all agreed, we destroy the Vita-ray device. Tony will look over the files, extract those that relate to the construction of the device, and then we'll burn them too."

"But not tonight," Bruce's voice was firm as he busied himself at the kitchenette, returning with a glass full of water, which he offered to Tony, along with two capsules. "Take these and get a good night's sleep."

"I—"

"Sleep, Tony. Your father's files have waited since... well, since the war, I guess. They can wait another few hours."

Tony looked at the water with disdain. "There's Scotch and Cognac in one of the cases that Steve and I shipped in. I think I need a stronger nightcap.”

Bruce stared him down. "Painkillers, Tony."

Tony sighed, and washed the capsules down, draining the glass, which he retained as he wandered off towards the storage area.

 

Tony was just pouring himself a second glass of brandy when Steve arrived and came to lean companionably beside him against the side of the truck.

"I just wanted to say, 'Sorry,' Steve opened. "As you said, it was none of my business."

"And, as you said, Rhodey had nothing but bad choices. Which doesn't mean I had to like the one he made." He paused. "He's one of the reasons I think we've just made the right decision. I can just see him leaping at the chance of taking the super-soldier serum."

"Even when that works, it hurts like hell," Steve said.

Tony shuddered. "From what Dad said, that's an understatement."

"And thank you for supporting me in there."

Wordlessly, Tony passed the full glass to him.

Steve took a reasonable sip, then passed it back. "Good cognac," he said.

"Sure is." 

Steve pushed himself away from the van. "I'm gonna get some shut-eye."

"Me too," Tony told him. Then, as the other man made his way towards the door. "Oh, and Steve..."

Steve turned to give him a quizzical look, and Tony raised his glass in an obvious toast. "Thanks for the retrieval."

Steve grinned. "Your personal gundog? What else are partners for?"

 

Tony was leafing through files, using the scanner he had borrowed from Bruce's lab to add the important pages to a thumb drive, when he heard a disapproving "Harrumph," and looked up to see Jan, arms folded and tapping one foot, watching him.

"I thought I might find you here," she said. "You and Hank are far too alike, but you're much sneakier. Bruce knows, of course – but Steve plainly doesn't understand you as well as I do, though I suspect that won't last long."

Tony sighed. "Steve is morally right and Bruce is right about the dangers, particularly as Steve is still alive. My Dad knew damn well he should have destroyed this thing, and I know I should destroy it too. I _will_ destroy both the mechanism and the records. But it is important knowledge, and I won't destroy all of that when I, my friends or the world might need it some day. And, as Steve said, I do own everything in this lab. So."

"And you really, really want to know what Vita-rays do, apart from activating the Erskine serum, that is."

Tony looked towards the looming machine Vita-ray machine with its human-shaped tank and there was a reckless glint in his eye. "It is very tempting, isn't it?"

"Not to me. But you're good at keeping secrets. And I may need a weapons designer to owe me a favour, one of these days. So I'll help you, if I can."


	9. Indistinguishable from Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alien science, bad lab protocols, the odd explosion and a lot of inspired lying.

The sun was prickly on his skin and blinding even behind his sunglasses, despite the narrowness of the valley as Steve picked his way through the rampant vegetation.

He had not slept well, the nightmares that had begun to fade back at Stark Tower returning in full force, but this time he had found himself back in the laboratory where he had become Captain America, with the dreadful pain of the transformation wracking his body, with his friends – Peggy and Howard and Erskine and Bucky and, God help him, Tony – drinking champagne and ignoring his screams.

Normally, on waking from such a nightmare, he would have asked Jarvis if Tony was in his workshop, and, if he was, would have made his way down to sit, watch and talk. But Jarvis did not have a presence here and, even if he had, Tony did not have a workshop or a lab.

This morning he had watched with an uneasy feeling in his stomach as Tony and Bruce dismantled the Vita-ray machine, then with disbelief as Hank and Jan _shrank_ the pieces so they could be removed outside, where Tony had improvised as series of small explosions which had left them in ruins.

Steve suspected a hammer would have done the job just as efficiently, but Tony did like blowing things up and it seemed a pity to spoil his fun.

The files, they burned.

That, too, felt like betrayal.

And the explosions and the fire had triggered another bout of flashbacks, ones that hadn't been mitigated by the conversation of the scientists, who were no longer talking in words, let alone in plain English. They seemed very excited about something, though Steve hadn't been sure what.

Bored, excluded, and deprived of the resources of both internet and gym, he had made his way out into the noonday sunshine, hoping to be able to at least run himself to exhaustion – but that wasn't possible in the confines of the valley.

So he found some shade under a tree, leaned against the trunk, and waited for the attack of unwanted memories to pass.

Besides, these flashes of the worst clips from a badly made movie in his mind were the only way he would ever see Bucky and Peggy again...

"Steve. Steve," a voice was saying persistently. "Steve, c'mon, look at me. It's not real. C'mon, Steve."

Tony.

He blinked up into Tony's sunglass-shadowed eyes.

"Welcome back from the forties," the other man said. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

" _Sure_ you are." Tony settled in beside him. "Fuck it, you were doing so well over at the Tower."

Steve felt his heart sink. Tony knew. But how? He couldn't believe that Fury had told Tony, of all people, and he'd done his best to keep his problems secret... 

"Do you know what happened to me in Afghanistan?" Tony asked suddenly, not looking at Steve.

Not knowing quite what to make of the _non sequitur_ , Steve said, "You were kidnapped by terrorists who tried to force you to build weapons, but you built the first Iron Man armour and escaped..."

"I had help," Tony said. "Guy called Yinsen. Saved my life by sticking an electro-magnet in my chest, kept me sane while they tortured me, helped me build the miniature ARC reactor and the armour, helped me escape, gave his life for me..."

Steve winced inwardly, remembering how he had asked Tony if Coulson's death had been the first time he lost a soldier. Plainly not.

_We are not soldiers._

"Then, back home, yeah, I was affected by what had happened, but I had Pepper and Rhodey and, above all, my work – and the prospect of revenge.

"So I know the symptoms and I listened to Bruce and, well, you didn't have my resources – any resources. Even the prospect of revenge. I guessed Natasha would look after Clint, and I gave Bruce work and people to argue with, but you were off looking for America or something, all by yourself... and, damn it, I shouldn't have brought you here where Jarvis couldn't— I mean where y—"

"You mean where Jarvis couldn't spy on me," Steve interrupted ruthlessly.

Tony shrugged, though his shoulders were stiff with tension. "Jarvis monitors everyone in the Tower; you know that, or you should – you ask him where I am, often enough."

"And you make sure I can find you," Steve said, in sudden revelation, not sure why he was still angry, not even sure that he was still angry.

Tony shrugged. "Sleep is for wimps."

"Now Ms Potts is back, what's she going to think if Jarvis interrupts you... er...?"

"Oh, Pepper likes you," Tony said, carefully not answering the unfinished question, though Steve was sure he knew perfectly well where it had been going. "She thinks you're a 'nice boy, so polite'." Tony flashed a quick grin at Steve. "I told her she hadn't heard what you called me, and she said that I'd undoubtedly deserved it."

It was so damn difficult to stay angry with Tony.

"Undoubtedly," Steve agreed, keeping his face expressionless.

"I'm sure you're going to conspire against me, but I'm putting off letting you compare notes as long as possible, so—"

"So that's the reason you brought me here?"

"Of course."

They were both lying.

"Come looking for me when it's bad," Tony said, abruptly. "I can distract you, if nothing else."

"Tony, I—"

Tony looked at him over the top of his sunglasses. "If you don't I'll come looking for you."

Steve swallowed against the sudden rush of emotion. "You left a lot out when you told me what you were without the suit," he said, as lightly as he could.

"Huh?"

"You're a definitely a billionaire – there weren't any in my day, but then with inflation – and a philanthropist. There's no doubt about your genius. What you didn't mention was how darn kind you are."

Tony gave a wonderful impression of a bird whose feathers had been ruffled; neck lifted and chin down, hair seeming to bristle. "I – am – not – kind. Playboys don't do kindness. It's not in the job description."

"Forgive me. It's just I haven't seen any evidence of the playboy. Of course, now I've met Ms Potts I kinda understand you laying off that one."

Tony laughed, then sobered. "Pepper is... has been... necessary. I can't put it any other way. She's been my right hand for over ten years. I can't imagine life without her. But that's not why I came out here. I gotta talk to someone, Steve, an' you're the only person I can trust not to laugh in my face."

"Because I'm not a scientist?"

"Because you've got personal experience of some of the amazing things that were supposedly invented or at least came to light during World War 2. You met the Red Skull. You're the only person who survived the super-soldier programme. And you knew Dad and Dr Erskine and Zola."

"I never actually met Zola," Steve said absently. "Phillips dealt with him." His expression sharpened. "This is something to do with those files, yes?"

"And you're smart. Yes, it is. Dad didn't know what he was building, didn't even know what Vita-rays were, and I'm betting that Erskine didn't really know either. What's more, that metal in your shield – vibranium – doesn't fit into the normal periodic table. That's because it's not composed of normal protons, neutrons and electron shells. Oh, it's not anti-matter, but there's something different about the arrangements of the quarks—"

"Quarks?"

"I really am going to have to work on your scientific education. Quarks are what elementary particles like protons are made of. They have names like Up and Down and Charm and, oh, forget it. Just take it from me that Vibranium doesn't make sense in terms of Earth physics. And Earth physics are supposed to be universal physics."

"Like the Chitauri technology? And the Tesseract."

"Got it in one. The Chitauri tech is also composed of previously unknown elements and compounds that simply should not exist. What's more, we analysed the contents of your 'bomb' from the pterathopter craft, and guess what?"

"Alien?"

"I think so. Hank doesn't agree. Jan, as usual, supports Hank. Bruce is sitting on the fence.

"What would the bombs have done to Manhattan?"

"We're still working on that."

"God help us all," Steve said, meaning it.

"Well, I would like to ask Thor some questions. Like how much the Asgardians know about all this odd tech that's suddenly appeared in the last hundred years or so."

Steve nodded. "Those aren't my questions but you've got a better chance of getting yours answered."

"Really?" Tony was intent, astonishingly interested in his views; Howard never had been.

"Really. Thor's in Asgard, but hopefully he'll be back. Your father won't. I want to know why he didn't tell you about the hidden lab. He told you about the base itself."

Tony shrugged. "He may have forgotten about it. It was over twenty years between the base here being decommissioned and his death, and he'd been pretty much soaking himself in alcohol for at least three quarters of those years that I know about."

Once again there was that bitter note behind Tony's droll manner. What had Howard done to him in those years? Certainly it was not something Steve could ask him, not something he would ever talk about. But there was at least one more question to which Steve wanted – needed – an answer.

He asked it. "But he was still looking for me?"

"Yes," Tony said slowly. "Yes, I guess so." He looked up sharply. "But I don't think he expected to find you – or to die, come to that."

"None of us expect to die," Steve pointed out while doing some quick mental arithmetic. "But he must have been in his seventies."

"He just seemed indestructible, never seemed to age – though I guess that was because he dyed his hair, and his moustache, and his eyebrows – can't say I'd know about the rest of it, and it's not something you can ask your Mom. For all I know he had facelifts too – it was too early for Botox. My father, the plastic man."

It was even more manic than Tony's usual monologues, and in the glimpses Steve had had of his eyes behind the sunglasses they had seemed overly wide, bright and dark ringed.

"Tony, I know it's not really my business, but you look feverish..."

"What?" Tony was plainly astonished. "Of course I'm not. I'm the very epitome of cool. In fact—"

"Hush." Steve reached out and rested the back of his hand against Tony's forehead. He fully expected the other man to shove him away, but, unexpectedly, Tony leaned into the touch.

"See? No fever. Cooler than you."

"My speeded up metabolism makes me run a couple of degrees hotter than most humans," Steve said, letting his hand fall. Tony didn't feel as cool as he should, but there couldn't be more than a degree in it, if it wasn't Steve's imagination. "C'mon." He jumped to his feet and held out a hand to Tony. "Let's get out of the heat and find out what horrors Hank and Bruce have cooked up while we've been talking." 

"Lunch," Tony said. He took Steve's hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. "And horror is probably right— what the—?"

The sound of the explosion wasn't particularly loud, but it had come from inside the laboratory complex.

"Shit," Tony said, even as Steve dropped his hand and started running towards the explosion. "Someone's taken over my gig." He sounded as if he was right on Steve's tail, but there was no time to check, because the door was a stride away.

Steve charged through the door into the shadowed interior.

The air was full of dust. Behind it, there was a noise that was vaguely familiar, of something large moving inside the cloud.

Then Jan burst out of the dust cloud, running from whatever lay within it. She jinked to avoid Steve, then swerved around Tony before disappearing through the door to Hank's lab.

At least she was safe.

Steve didn't have the option of running.

He almost tripped over the rubble which was all that remained of a lab wall and, perforce, stopped, putting out a hand to keep Tony from tumbling as he heard him stumble.

Through the settling dust, the Hulk turned to look at them. There was nothing of the wild humour Steve remembered so well in that look; just anger and pain and a frightening lack of intelligence. Bruce's lab coat had fallen in tatters from the massively muscled shoulders, and his pants had split at the waist and were now pooled about his feet.

Which was where Hank Pym lay, unmoving, unconscious or dead, the shrunken Chitauri transport tumbled beside him amid the splinters of the shattered lab bench and sparking electricity.

The Hulk's huge fists clenched and his mouth opened in a roar that was louder than the explosion had been.

Tony touched Steve's arm, nodded towards Hank, then stepped sideways, the Hulk's eyes following him as he moved clear of Steve, drawing the beast's attention.

"Bruce," he said. "Boy, the speed of that change is impressive, buddy, but it's not Hank's fault. All right, it might have been Hank's fault at that, but that doesn't mean you get to batter him to a pulp."

The Hulk roared and stomped, cracking the tiles and concrete. A splinter sliced through Tony's cheek, but he ignored it.

"Way to go, King Kong. Green Kong. If you don't like the decor I can get the contractors in—"

Steve had been edging away from Tony and behind the Hulk. Now, he raced forward, scooped Hank up into his arms and fled back on towards the far door.

"Steady, steady no need to—" Tony's voice was rising, all his normal insouciance deserting him. "No, stay where you ar— urgh!"

In panic, Steve looked back just in time to see the Hulk lift Tony from the floor, a massive hand grasping so much of his t-shirt that Tony was gasping for breath from that constriction alone.

In one smooth motion Steve deposited Hank gently on the floor... 

Even as the Hulk threw Tony aside...

And Jan appeared in the doorway. "Stand clear!" she shouted.

Steve dived under the Hulk's dangling hands, sliding face down across the floor to fling his arms around Tony and frantically roll them both away from the Hulk...

Jan had drawn back into a pitcher's stance. Now she hurled something small directly at the Hulk. The beast put out a hand to fend it off, and it exploded in a pink-tinged cloud.

And the Hulk ... shrank, so swiftly it left an afterimage, as if he had been animated. Then there was just the Hulk, two inches tall, bewildered and furious.

At least, Steve thought wildly, this should make him less dangerous, easier to catch and restrain.

Only the tiny green figure leaped into the air at a speed impossible to follow. There was a sharp cracking noise, followed almost immediately by the appearance of a small hole in the wall – not Hulk shaped, Steve was relieved to note.

"Christ..." Tony wheezed against Steve's encircling grip. "Sonic bang. _How?_. Knew ... shrinking Hulk was ... bad idea."

"You have a better suggestion?" Jan asked, from where she was kneeling beside Hank, cradling his head in her hands.

"No, but you have a terrific arm, lady.”

"Thank you. I pitched for my softball team as a kid."

Abruptly realising he still had his arms around Tony's chest, Steve let go and started to scramble to his feet, with every intention of taking off after the tiny Hulk. Surely he couldn't get very far.

Tony, though, grabbed his arm and hung on firmly that Steve had to stop or drag him with him. "Steve, Steve, wait! Even if you... if you found him... too dangerous. You saw what he did ... to the wall. Without ... shield... go right through your body."

"Bruce wouldn't—" Steve stopped dead, his eyes on Tony's pain-creased and bloodstained face, because, while Bruce might not, the Hulk plainly would. "How badly are you hurt?"

"Just bruised." Tony used his grip on Steve to haul himself painfully to his feet. "You've got battlefield first aid experience. Help Jan with Hank. I'll check the damage, see if I can contact Jarvis."

"Hank's coming round," Jan told them, from the other side of the room. "Steve, examine Tony first. He's got a history of concealing injuries."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Steve asked the air. His expression sharpened. "Tony, are you hiding broken ribs?" It couldn't be too bad; there was no blood on Tony's lips, so at least he hadn't punctured a lung. The odds of getting him to allow Steve to get a proper look at his injuries were prohibitive so, instead, he took the opportunity afforded by the fact Tony was still using him as support to run a firm hand down the side his fellow Avenger had been favouring.

Tony flinched, but his voice was perfectly normal now as he protested, "Watch it, Rogers. Saving my life doesn't give you licence to cop a feel." His breathing was regular now, too and the ribs beneath cotton and skin hadn't felt broken or even cracked, though Tony was plainly badly bruised. It didn't seem worth pushing it, at the moment at any rate. 

"You'll do," Steve said. 

"I'd better. I'm gonna call Jarvis and get him to send the armour here. You want it to bring your shield?"

"You mean trust your robots not to lose it? No, Tony. And the armour will draw attention to this place."

"No. I gotta new stealth mode that'll keep it off radar."

"It won't keep it away from the human eye," Steve pointed out.

"Not that many eyes around here. I have to risk it, Cap. We gotta find Tiny-Hulk before he turns into Tiny-Bruce who'll be a target for every predator out there."

There was no arguing with that. "Okay, but for Heaven's sake find yourself a first aid kit and deal with that cut before it gets infected," Steve ordered.

"Sure, sure." Tony disengaged himself from Steve and limped out of the room. Steve stared after him for a moment, wondering if he should have stopped him and, if so, _how_? Well, he'd check on him later... or maybe sooner. Meanwhile, Jan would need his help to move Hank.

 

Tony reached again into the interior of the cabling duct, and gasped as the pain stabbed through his chest. He would have sworn but he'd worn out his vocabulary about an hour ago.

With an effort, he shallowed his breathing.

"Ah, Tony," Steve's voice said. A hand bearing a steaming mug descended in front of Tony's eyes, then, as he made to grasp for it, was withdrawn. "You can't drink it lying on your stomach," Steve pointed out.

"Can't I? Just hand it over and watch me."

"You'll give yourself indigestion."

"What the hell do you know about it?" Tony demanded, as bellicosely as he could manage.

"My mother used to say that, and she was a nurse," Steve said. "Of course, it may just have been the sort of thing you say to kids. But why risk it? Come on, Tony, sit."

"I'm not a dog." All the same, Tony followed the coffee's trajectory into a sitting position, clasped the mug in both hands, and took a gulp of its contents. It tasted foul. "Urgh."

"Don't blame me," Steve said. "Jan made it." He swallowed a mouthful of his own coffee and pronounced, "I've tasted worse. A lot worse, actually."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "It's not decaf, is it?"

Steve shrugged. "I didn't ask. I take all this—" He waved a hand at the tangled cables and disembowelled circuitry, "—means you weren't able to contact Jarvis."

"Between the explosion and the Hulk, every electronic circuit in the place has been blown," Tony told him. "We're out of touch with the outside world."

"Does Jarvis have standing instructions about when to panic?"

"Panic is not in his protocols. Pepper might, though, if he tells her he's lost all contact with me. He shouldn't do that for another forty-eight hours. They're not the problem. The problem is that if I can't get him to send the armour I've got no chance of finding the Tiny Hulk, or, if he's no longer tiny, no chance of stopping him."

"You don't have to—"

"Yes, I do," Tony snapped. "It's my fault, Steve. I should never have brought him here, never have brought Hank and Jan here, or that fucking Chitauri machine—"

"Bruce set off the explosion," Steve interrupted. "That's what caused him to Hulk out. What I don't understand is why he attacked you and Hank. At the Battle of Manhattan he worked with us, took orders, saved your life—

Though aware he was being distracted, Tony couldn't refrain from lecturing. "Bruce explained it to me. Hulk is different, more rational, when Bruce deliberately triggers the change. This time he didn't. How's Hank?"

"Sitting up in bed with his helmet on, cursing the fact Jan and I won't allow him to go charging off into the night contacting more ants. To be honest, I doubt most of the colonies would notice the shrunken Hulk unless he started ripping up their nests, but Hank thinks the Hulk must have left the valley, though how he'd do that, considering his current size..."

Tony shook his head. "He smashed through a concrete wall, and, as it happens, the sound barrier. Tiny-Hulk's got far more strength than he should have for his size and mass – it's almost as if he retained all full-size Hulk's power... but that's impossible. On the other hand, the Pym Effect is impossible anyway, and I've gotten used to believing six impossible things before breakfast."

"Wow," Steve said wryly. "I got that reference too."

That made Tony laugh, then started him coughing, which, damn it, was so painful he wasn't able to conceal it.

"That does it," Steve said. "You need a few hours sleep before you can even think about messing with delicate electronics.”

"I'm okay. I've worked longer hours than this on the Iron Man."

"Tony, you haven't slept for nearly three days and during that time you've been pitched down into a cave, possibly concussed, and assaulted by the Hulk. I let it go earlier, but right now you have a choice of walking to your bed or being thrown over my shoulder and carried there. Which will hurt, believe me." 

"Bully," Tony accused, but his eyelids were sagging. Even so, he noticed Steve's wince and felt a moment of regret. Not half as much, though, as he wished the room would stop rocking and greying in front of his eyes. He swayed back into Steve's welcome support. Nor did he protest when Steve lifted him to his feet; in fact, it was, sort of... nice. In the end, he didn't remember reaching his bed.

 

Steve steered the SUV carefully down the dirt road, a very different experience from driving a Jeep across war-torn Europe. Actually, the vehicle was closer to the size of an armoured car, but without the armour and with comfortable seats, an astonishingly quiet engine, and a suspension which smoothed out some of the worst of the bumps. Steve's caution was more to do with the strange automatic gears and the complexity of the dash than the state of the road or the power of the engine.

In the rear seat, his ridiculous helmet disguised by the darkened windows, Hank Pym was attempting to interrogate the local ant population. Jan sat beside Steve, alternately navigating – because they didn't dare use a SatNav that might lead someone back to the hidden valley and the labs – and surfing the local radio stations for clues to the Hulk's whereabouts.

"At number six in the Country charts..."

"... a semi has broken down on Interstate 44..."

"... and today's Golden Oldie, voted for by you, comes from 1981..."

"... gnome. Leastways, I can't think of nothin' else it coulda been...

"... stock prices.."

"Jan, go back!" Steve ordered urgently.

"Already on it."

"...perhaps it was a leprechaun?" This was a new voice, arch and mocking.

"You may think Oliver's Plot is in hick country but it sure ain't in Ireland. No shamrocks here. Besides, no leprechaun I heard of was green. Dressed in green, maybe, but not green-skinned and nekkid like a Martian or something..."

"Where's that place... what was it?... Oliver's Plot?" Hank asked.

"Give me a moment. Got it! Steve, turn around when possible."

Hank snorted with laughter.

Refusing to ask for an explanation, Steve glanced in the mirrors and, seeing the road was empty, braked, swung the SUV round in as tight a turning circle as its wheelbase could manage, then gunned the engine to race back the way they had come, no doubt breaking any problematic speed limits.

 

Tony woke to full daylight.

With a growl of annoyance, he shoved back the bedcovers, and groaned. Every muscle he had was creaking and his chest, already constricted by the ARC reactor, ached with every breath.

He was also naked, except for his boxers.

He certainly hadn't been capable of undressing himself, so Steve must have done it... and he wasn't sure, right at this minute whether he was annoyed about that or the fact that Steve had left him his boxers, which sorta diminished the hotness and he shouldn't be thinking that being undressed by Captain America was hot, even if he hadn't woken up—

Oh.

Oh.

That evil tasting coffee. Sure, Jan had made it, maybe, but he bet it had been Steve's idea to dose it with sedative, and if he hadn't already been so tired he'd have spotted that he was being distracted.

Tony shook his head in an effort to clear it of the contradictions and winced again, flopping face down on the mattress and wondering how much it would hurt to get out of bed or whether, if he could catch enough breath to yell, someone – not that traitor Steve, definitely not – would fetch him some coffee, or, better yet, whisky...

It was then that he noticed that someone had thoughtfully left both painkilling tablets and a couple of bottles of water on the bedside table.

Water would do at a pinch.

There was an envelope propped up against the water bottles. Tony goggled at it, particularly as it had his name on it in a clear hand that almost certainly did not belong to one of the scientists. No one wrote to him on anything longer than a Post It, unless it was something that needed his signature.

Carefully, he reached out, snagged the envelope, and extracted a single sheet of paper.

 

_Dear Tony:_

_Jan, Hank and I are going to look for the Hulk, or possibly Bruce. If either has reverted to his normal size finding him should be easier. Jan thinks we can get clues from local radio once we are clear of the valley, and Hank is sure the ants can help. We are taking something called an SUV, and will be back before dark, whatever happens._

_I realise you will never accept coffee from me again – though that might be to my advantage – but carrying you over my shoulder might have done you serious damage. I examined your injuries last night. I am still not sure whether or not you've cracked a rib, and won't be until we can get someone to do an X-ray or the swelling goes down._

_While we are gone, please get out of bed and crawl halfway into the electrical ducting and don't stop until you have contact with Jarvis, no matter how sick you feel._

_Yours,_

_Steve_

 

Oh, he was going to have words with Captain Rogers.

You don't get me that easily, Cap, he told the absent Steve. All the same I'll just lie here for a while and take those painkillers, maybe.

He reached for the tablets and a bottle of water, then in direct defiance of Steve and Steve's no-doubt-long-deceased mom, washed the tablets down while still lying on his stomach. Which process needed more water than he might have expected.

After a minute or so, he rolled onto his back and lay still, exhausted with the effort.

The mattress crackled uncomfortably under him, and exploration revealed Steve's letter. Tony growled and looked round for a trash can. Unable to locate one, he settled for laying the letter carefully on the bedside table, telling himself that it was, after all, a curiosity. And he'd get rid of it later. 

 

"Slow down, would you, Steve? Something's disturbed the ants in this area," Hank reported from the back seat as they rolled downhill towards what Jan's map told them was Oliver's Plot.

It was as well that Steve complied, as a couple of dilapidated farm trucks came barrelling out from the buildings at the bottom of the shallow valley, filling the road. 

Steve took one look and pulled off the road, even as something came flying straight at the window. For an instant, he thought, "Grenade!" and he slammed on the brakes – but, unless things had changed drastically in seventy years – grenades weren't that small and certainly weren't green—

The thought was broken as right side window shattered into a thousand pieces. The small green thing landed on Jan's lap, provoking a choked-off shriek that was echoed in a small way by Hank, but by then the miniaturised Hulk had bounced up onto Steve's shoulder and scuttled round to his left ear.

Steve heard harsh breathing, then a voice, much higher pitched than the Hulk's usual growl, saying, "Giant Cap help Hulk?"

Jan was reaching for the Hulk, but Steve fended her off. "No, it's okay. Hulk, it's just fine. We came to help you."

"Steve, watch out for the locals! If one of those guys sees the Hulk—"

"Got it." Steve was fumbling for the control that lowered the left hand window. Even as it slid away, and with an air of what seemed very much like contempt, the shrunken Hulk leaped from Steve's shoulder onto the back seat and vanished behind Hank.

He was just in time, because the trucks were braking, spinning sideways to block the road in front of the SUV.

Two men leaped out of the nearest truck and strode over to the SUV. Both were carrying rifles.

Steve quietly released his seat belt, checked he knew how to find reverse gear, and plastered as stupid an expression as he could manage onto his face as the bigger of the two men, wearing coveralls and a scowl, strode over to peer through the broken window.

"Hey, what the hell are you folks doin'—?" He stopped, staring at Hank's helmet. "What the hell's that?"

"He says it allows him to talk to aliens," Jan said airily, ignoring the man's expression. "We were testing it out when we heard—"

"Aliens? You expect us to buy that, lady?"

"Yes, if you were the people who reported a little green man on local radio."

The two men looked at each other, then back at the other farm truck. There was a middle-aged woman at the wheel and a young man beside her.

"I'm a reporter from the _National Enquirer_. We were taking some film and testing this," Jan went on, waving a casual hand towards Hank's helmeted head, "when we heard your report on the radio and if we can confirm that sighting, with photos— I guess you'll be glad to have your names in the papers when we write the story?"

Steve, resting his arms casually on the wheel, saw the moment of realisation when the stranger figured out that his 'gnome' might be worth money and this casual young woman might be about to deprive him of his share of it. He wondered what Jan would have done if the guy hadn't got it. Probably dropped even larger hints.

"I'm picking something up now," Hank intoned, from the rear seat. "Think it must be communications traffic from their ship."

The stranger looked askance at Hank, and shifted the rifle on his arm, as if finding that reassuring. "What happened to your side windows?" 

"Darned if I know," Steve said. "Unless you shot at us." He looked pointedly at the rifle.

"I didn't shoot nobody, least, not on a public highway. But right now you ain't on the public highway an' we don't like snoopers around here. Specially not when they're following up on the hoax my boy played on that damnfool jock." He leaned forward intimidatingly and, incidentally, took a long hard look inside the SUV. Apparently, he saw nothing untoward, for he stepped back with a, "So if I were you, ma'am, I'd go peddle my line elsewhere."

"I can hear them clearly now," Hank said. "Think they're preparing the lasers for firing."

Jan batted her eyelashes. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement, Mr...er...?"

"Oliver. This is my land. So get off it."

"We're going," Steve said, because that order was what he had been waiting for. He put the SUV into reverse and, instead of turning, put his foot to the floor and steered it backwards up the hill until out of range of the rifles.

"Oh boy," Hank said, "I'm glad there was nothing coming the other way, Steve."

"By tonight the place will be crawling with cars full of reporters," Jan said, "so we'll be forgotten. Of course, they won't find anything. That is if the mini-Hulk is still back there with you, Hank."

Hank chuckled. "He's gone to sleep. Can't you hear him snoring...?"

 

Tony was dozing when he heard the sound of the machinery that lowered the ramps to the tunnel that led to the ruined barn outside the valley. It galvanised him into rolling out of bed and struggling into his pants, before hurrying to the storeroom just in time to see the SUV, its front passenger window missing, come barrelling up the ramp and brake abruptly. The doors opened, and Steve, Hank, Jan... and oh, thank Christ, that was Bruce, full sized and plainly unharmed... got out.

He bounced up to them, ignoring that that was doing to his ribs. "Hey, you found him. Hi, Bruce, glad to see you've recovered from attack by Jan. Few people do, let me tell you. Did you break that window? I'm not sure the insurance covers attack by superhero. And finding a garage to fix it will be difficult enough..."

Bruce's eyes narrowed as he surveyed Tony. "What the hell did you do to yourself, Stark? Or—?" A shadow settled on his expression. "Oh, Christ, it wasn't the Hu— the Other Guy, was it?"

"Nah, just Steve being clumsy," Tony said.

"And Tony pushing his luck," Steve added. "I don't think I did that much damage. There's the effect of him tumbling head first into his father's trap to consider."

Bruce looked from one man to the other, then smiled. "Since when did you two become a double act?" Then, at their identical wide-eyed innocent stares, he added, "So, it was the Other Guy. I'm sorry, Tony."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who sent you here, thinking you'd be safe."

"Nonsense," Bruce said. "I could have said 'No.'"

"And I was the one who put Hank and Jan at risk, too, sending them here without your permission. I should have known it was a combustible mixture."

Bruce stared at him: "Didn't Hank tell you what happened?"

"Tony's been asleep," Steve said.

"And I didn't want to steal your thunder," Hank added.

Bruce snorted. "Well, if you put it like that... I found what would react with the contents of that sphere you brought from New York. It just reacted rather too well."

"You did? What was it? C'mon, Brucie baby, tell Uncle Tony."

"I've got to say I didn't think anything was going to happen," Bruce added, obviously teasing him.

"Bruce, Bruce, _mon petit – non, grand – choux..._ "

Bruce laughed. "You said the spheres and their contents might be alien tech. I wasn't sure you were right, but if you were then maybe the spheres were aimed at something alien already in New York, so...?" Bruce raised his eyebrows at Tony in his best professorial manner.

Damn it, he'd been blind! "The Chitauri? Or their tech?"

"That seemed logical. I tested it on a small piece of Chitauri machinery. The result was spectacular. I'm going to take better precautions when I test it on a tissue sample, but I'm willing to bet the results will be the same."

"Someone was trying to get rid of all that remained of the Chitauri in New York without caring who they killed doing it," Steve said.

"But using a _really_ weird way of delivering it," Tony said. "Damn, I'm going to have to talk to Fury – and maybe the military, ASAP. So, Bruce, the thing exploded and you were startled enough to... well, to suit up in an involuntary fashion. What happened then?"

"I don't remember much until I... er... woke up and found myself the size of a doll in the middle of Oklahoma. Things got a bit exciting for a while, until I spotted some buildings. Once inside, I managed to avoid the inhabitants but not the local radio station, which one of the kids was tuned to permanently at full blast. I needed to let you know where I was, so I ... suited up, to use your phrase.

"The effect was all I'd hoped. The locals spotted the Other Guy—"

"And called the radio station telling them about the gnome they'd spotted," Jan said.

"And the locals weren't the only ones who had spotted the Hulk," Hank added. "The ants had too."

"And this time it was a version of the Other Guy who could recognise Steve and Jan and Hank as friends, and go to them for aid," Bruce went on. "In fact, the Other Guy felt so safe with them he went to sleep on Hank's jacket in the back of the SUV, transformed into me and I woke up full sized. The effect of the Pym particles must have worn off."

"Maybe," Jan said. "Maybe not."

"You've gotten an idea, honey?" Hank asked. "I wonder if it's the same as mine."

"We'll need to run tests—"

"Not on me until I know what you're up to!" Bruce protested.

"None of you can do anything right now. A lot of the equipment still isn't working and the computers aren't on line," Tony said. "That's because of you, Rogers. I need to get to work on it right away."

"We'll all get to work on it," Hank said.

"You can supervise," Bruce told Tony, "but first we all need to eat. Then I'll examine those ribs."

"Not someone else who wants to get his hands on my body! And don't think I've forgiven you, Rogers, either."

"Of course not, Tony." Steve's reply was amused, but there was a note of unease at the back of it that made Tony's stomach lurch.

"You can always stay here with us when Tony goes back to New York, Steve," Bruce suggested, one hand on Tony's shoulder as he steered him out of the room.

Like hell, Tony thought. They'd see about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad science. Really bad science. But most of it never made sense in the comic books either.


	10. Detonations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News from back East sends Tony and Steve into unexpected danger.

Hearing footsteps, Tony lifted his head from where he was entangled in computer innards. Bruce was standing in the doorway, hands on the frame, as if he wasn't sure he ought to step inside. "Nearly finished," Tony told him. "We should be back in touch with the outside world real soon now." 

Bruce took a deep breath. "Actually... er... we've had radio reception for the last twenty minutes." 

Tony sat up abruptly. "Radio transmission will lead people right here." 

"We aren't transmitting anything, Tony. We just needed to tune in to the local radio to see what the press are making of the Great Gnome Mystery." 

"Jarvis can—" 

"And we need a backup if and when Jarvis is off line. Like right now." 

"There's no reception in the valley – there never has been." 

"Oh, come on, Tony. Your father may have put in a landline to keep in touch with the staff working here, but they would also have had all modern comforts. Of course he arranged for radio and TV reception." 

"There were no radios or televisions on site when I de-mothballed it," Tony protested. 

"Why would the staff leave them here? Anyhow, Steve—" 

" _Steve?_ " 

"Yeah. Steve – you know, the man who knew your father and how his mind worked. He was sure Howard would have put in a disguised aerial somewhere, so he and Hank went out and asked some ants." 

"They asked some ants. This is now my life. Have you listened to yourself? Those words coming from your mouth are just, well, wrong." 

Bruce ignored the babble. "The ants pointed Hank in the direction of that big outcrop near the valley head. Steve climbed up and found that one of the trees clinging to the cracks was actually metal. There was rotted coaxial running down a deep – and probably artificial – crack in the rock into the valley. From there on it was easy." 

Tony groaned. "Medieval technology is." 

"I take it they don't teach history at MIT," Bruce said dryly, wandering over to peer at Tony's work. 

Tony had to stop himself putting out an arm to protect it. "So, are the _National Enquirer_ going with the jolly green gnome?" he asked. 

"Probably, but we seem to have lucked out with the quality press and the tabloids." Bruce squatted down besides Tony and began absently to fiddle with the electronics. "There was... er... a much bigger story." 

"Which was?" 

"Massive explosion at an air force base in Jersey." 

"Probably playing with Hammertech again," Tony said, dismissively. Then, with dawning horror: "In New Jersey? That would be McGuire Field. McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst. Joint services— Jesus, Bruce, there are thousands on that base." Tony's hands flew to make the final connections and the alarm sounded for an incoming call. "Jarvis, speak to me." 

"Sir!" Jarvis responded. "I trust you and Captain Rogers are in good health." 

"Yeah, we are." Well, at least Cap was, so it was only half a lie. "Miss me, baby?" 

"Indeed, your absence was noted, sir. A number of people wished to speak to you. As per your instructions, I informed them you had retreated to a monastery—" 

"I told you to tell them I had retreated to a nunnery," Tony corrected him. 

"I decided that Ms Potts would not appreciate that joke, sir. Or that she might possibly construe it to be true." 

"So Pepper's been looking for me?" 

"Yes, sir. Also Director Fury, Deputy Director Hill, the entire Press Corps, Colonel Velasco, Ms Bartowski—" 

"Velasco. Velasco. Oh, my God. Jarvis, where did he take that Chitauri troop carrier-thing? Please tell me it wasn't McGuire." 

"I could tell you that, sir," Jarvis said, "but it would not be true." 

"Oh, God, Tony," Bruce whispered, "you don't think—?" 

"Never," Jan's voice said cheerfully from behind them. "Except about sex and alcohol and making things go bang..." She was standing in the doorway, Hank and Steve flanking her, a frown slowly replacing the smile on her face as she took in Bruce's and Tony's expressions. 

Hank said, "The computer network is active, so we figured you'd also gotten Jarvis back—" 

"As obviously you have," Jan added. 

Steve, however, had slid sideways past Jan and was now striding forward. "Tony, Bruce, what's wrong?" 

"Jarvis, I need to talk to Director Fury, right now," Tony snapped, holding up a hand and shaking his head at Steve, who squatted down beside him. "Sir, Ms Potts—" 

"Fury first. Or Hill if you can't reach him." 

"Tony, are you sure...?" 

Tony waved Bruce to silence as the familiar voice said. "Fury here. What the hell is this about, Stark? 

"I have a warning for you – but a question first. The guy flying the pterathopter—" 

"The what?" Fury did not sound amused. 

"The ornithopter-that-ate-New York. Except that it didn't. That guy. He tell you anything? Like who sent him? And who built that wonderful machine?" 

"I'm not talking to you unless I know this line is secure, Stark." 

"It is this end. I can't speak for yours. We need to meet, then, when I get back to New York." 

"What makes you think I'm anywhere near New York right now?" 

"With that explosion in New Jersey you'll be on your way there – or you ought to be." 

"USAF business, Stark. Not mine." 

"I wouldn't be too sure of that, Director. Velasco took his Chitauri space-force carrier to McGuire." 

"You mean the leviathan?" Fury questioned. 

"If that's what you've finally decided to call the space-dragon-turtles, then yes. We think that was what exploded. I suggest that you don't let the contents of those bombs come into contact with anything Chitauri. _Anything_. Got that? But when you do, which I suspect will be as soon as I've finished this call—" 

"Count on it," Fury said dryly. 

"—use microscopic amounts of both and not on the helicarrier. Try a reinforced bunker, and don't let anyone inside it when you do it." 

"I'll be fascinated to learn how you know all this, Stark. You gave the Air Force the means to acquire a leviathan. Did you give them one of those bombs too? _Are you watching McGuire burn, Stark?_ " 

Tony heard Steve's sharp intake of breath, and felt his hand settle lightly on his shoulder. "Tony's the only reason you have either 'leviathans' or the bombs, sir," Steve pointed out. "He's certainly less likely to supply weapons of any kind to the Air Force than... anyone else... with access to them." 

Now it was Tony's turn to take a quick breath of surprise, one he suspected, from the pregnant pause, was something Fury had also taken. 

Had Captain America really just accused Fury and SHIELD of supplying alien tech – though, of course, they didn't know it was alien tech – to the USAF? 

"You vouching for Stark, Rogers?" Fury asked. 

"Tony Stark is his own man," Steve said. "After what he's done, he doesn't need anyone to vouch for him." 

"So you are vouching for him. In that case I don't suppose you're ready to come in yet?" 

"I'm an Avenger; not a SHIELD agent." 

Had Steve seen Classic Trek, Tony wondered, trying and failing to repress his grin. If not, he would have to educate him, so he would understand why he was now grinning from ear to ear. "See you in the Big Apple, Fury. Stark out. Jarvis! Arrange for my personal jet to be waiting at... let's see... nothing too close... Wichita will do. And make sure the suitcase armour is on board. Steve, can you get your gear together and the truck fully unloaded?" 

"Using the truck might be a giveaway," Steve said, rising easily to his feet. "I saw a bike in the garage." 

"Mine," said Hank. "Take it. You can load that onto the plane and there won't be anything around to trace back here. The truck'll be more useful to us, given a lick of paint. Also, the helmets will be an excellent disguise." 

"Thanks, Hank," Tony said. "Steve, don't bother packing anything that you can replace once we get back to New York. That includes all of my stuff. I'll just pick up my leather jacket." 

Steve gave him a long appraising look. "A shower, a different pair of pants and new shirt won't hurt. We're going to have enough trouble getting your staff to recognise you without the goatee." 

Tony rubbed at his chin. "It's already growing back. I'll see about arranging a designer stubble version." 

Steve rolled his eyes but refrained from any other comment. 

"C'mon, Steve," Hank said. "I'll find the helmets for you." 

Jan followed them out, but Bruce lingered. 

"Well?" Tony asked, in response to the doubt on the other man's face. "Spit it out." 

"Tony..." Bruce hesitated. "Wouldn't it be better if you left Steve here?" 

Tony stared at him in astonishment. "No, it would not," he snapped. 

"Hmm." Bruce's expression was far too analytical. "Why not? He's legally vulnerable. All his documentation is ... faked?" 

"You'd have a hard time proving that," Tony retorted. "And he's not a scientist – he's no use to you here and he needs to be useful." 

"What use is he in Manhattan? That excuse isn't good enough, Stark." 

"What, helping me stay alive isn't of use? Don't answer that! Try this instead: Steve's a New York boy. He made his way back there because that's where he feels most comfortable – and then we just happened to save each other's lives. He watches my back, I watch his." 

Bruce sighed. "That's what he said." 

"Then why the hell ask me? He makes his own decisions." 

Bruce looked down at his hands. "He listens to you and I just wanted to see... "His eyes lifted to meet Tony's." You're a volatile combination." 

That was not what he'd started to say, Tony guessed. He sealed the access panel with a flourish and rose to his feet while deciding how to respond. "Not anymore," he said at last. "We make a good team. A very good team. And I'm shy a partner now Rhodes has chosen the Air Force over me." 

"That... may be what bothers me." 

Tony snorted, punched Bruce on the shoulder rather too hard for it to be totally friendly, and hurried out. He might just have time for a shower as well as a change of clothes. 

 

As a child, Steve had found sleeping difficult, lying awake on his narrow bed, forcing himself to breathe, afraid that if he didn't concentrate on the movement of his chest, his lungs might give up the fight and he might never wake up again. 

Then, in the army, he'd unlearned all of that, learned instead to catch sleep anywhere and everywhere, in each quiet or noisy moment, however cold, wet or uncomfortable he might be at the time. 

Sleeping in the comfort of Tony's private plane was almost too easy. 

He was drifting through that state where his dreaming intersected with the real world, aware that he was dreaming, but also aware that he could choose to dream on or to wake up, when Tony's voice drew him out into wakefulness. 

"... I don't care how much is invested in fracking – and that sounds vaguely obscene by the way, which it kinda is, if you think about it – or how deep both parties are in hock to Roxxon Oil; I want those companies in existence and the agreements signed by the end of the month. Your job is to keep the vested interests diverted, not to take their side." 

"I am not taking their side." It was Pepper Potts' voice. "I am trying to avoid a faceoff between Stark Industries and the US government, not to mention you and the Board." 

Peering under his lashes, Steve could see Tony's fingers flying over what appeared to be a keyboard made of light projected from his tablet – StarkPad, whatever – even as he continued his conversation with Pepper. 

"The Board is going to discover that it has no stake in Stark Energy sooner or later," Tony retorted. "And what the hell are we paying off all those Senators and Representatives for, anyway? You might remind them how those funds are going to vanish if they rat on us." 

Inwardly, Steve winced. He knew that city and state governments were often corrupt – he'd seen enough in Europe, let alone growing up in 20s and 30s New York – but hearing Tony talk so casually of 'buying' Federal support hurt. He didn't need his faith in government – or in Tony, come to that – undermined any further. 

No wonder so many people were so cynical... 

"You're going too fast, Tony," Pepper said. "You could come close to ruining the US economy—" 

"I'm trying to save the world, fuck it! Even if we get the ARC reactors distributed worldwide in the next three years it may be too late. You know that, Pepper." 

"Yes, Tony, I know, but there are people who are convinced the cure may be worse than the disease. We're only just coming out of one world recession—" 

"Caused by the people who are predicting disaster right now. You gonna trust their judgement?" 

"Okay, I'll give you that one but this... rush... scares me. When we started this you were all for taking things slowly." 

"Before Loki. Before the Chitauri. Fury knew, but Thor made it clear we had come to the attention of forces that could destroy the world. They aren't going to go away. We need to be ready." 

"Preparing Earth's defences isn't your responsibility." 

"Isn't it? Who else is there?" 

"SHIELD..." 

"SHIELD doesn't have the brains or the firepower. Fury created the Avengers because he _knew_ that," Tony retorted. "But I wouldn't trust him further than I could kick him, without benefit of the armour. He wants to control the Avengers, the armour, and the ARC reactor technology just as he wanted to use Asgardian technology for defence. And look what Asgardian tech brought us – the Red Skull, Hydra, Loki, an alien invasion and the attention of Odin only knows how many hostile civilisations." 

"You don't have to convince me, Tony." 

"I need to convince everyone.” 

"Marilyn wants to see you. She's been waiting at least forty-eight hours with some hardcopy—" 

"If that's the new version of my will I've just e-mailed her some amendments. I can't see her today, anyway. We're landing at Vicstar field. No one will expect us there, but it's an easy flight to McGuire Field in the Iron Man armour. I want to talk to Colonel Velasco, if he's still alive. And to offer our help if it's needed." 

"Happy told me where you were coming in, and I'm in the car with him. We should be at the field before you land... Tony, I could see the smoke from the explosion from Stark Tower." 

"See you there, honey." 

There was what seemed to Steve like too long a pause from the other end, then Pepper said, "Tony, is anything wrong?" 

"Why would anything be wrong? Why should you think that? You have a suspicious mind, woman." 

Pepper made a noise that was half disapproving, half amusement. "I need one, Tony. You'd better be telling me the truth. See you soon." 

"Jarvis," Tony said, after a moment. "Was Pepper always this cynical? Or was I simply blinded by lust?" 

"I wouldn't know, sir, but it _is_ an attitude cultivated by your friends." 

Steve had to bite the inside of his cheeks to stop himself laughing. 

"Just remember who buys your servers – and to deploy the Mark 8 on schedule. And don't think you're fooling me, by the way, Cap," Tony added, without looking up. 

Steve gave in and let himself laugh. He stretched and said, "Didn't want to interrupt." 

"Nah, you just decided to let me face Pepper alone because you're scared of her." 

"Precisely," Steve said. 

"Well, I can't argue with that." 

 

The plane had landed and was taxiing across the bumpy tarmac towards the boarded-up terminal when, Steve, peering out of the window with a look of nostalgia on his face, announced that, "Looks like there's a welcoming committee." 

Tony unclipped his seat belt and came to lean over his shoulder. "That's Pepper. You can't mistake that hair. Happy, plus car. And that's – oh, fuck it, that's Hill." 

"Well, you did tell Fury to get in touch when you got back to New York," Steve pointed out. 

"We're not in New York, we're in New Hampshire," Tony shot back. 

"Yeah, I'm aware. This place doesn't seem to have changed since the war, and it was run down even then – and should you be standing with the seat belt light still on?" 

"My plane, my rules," Tony said cheerfully, grinning as he sashayed across the cabin to where the case containing his armour was strapped to the wall on its own custom fixings. Unfortunately, the plane chose that moment to hit a stretch of broken concrete and lurch. 

So did Tony. 

He grabbed for the nearest projection, which happened to on the flight attendants' station and even as he clung on through another series of bumps, a silver coloured pole telescoped up from the floor and some very un-Tony-like bump-and-grind music started up. 

"Tony, what the devil...?" 

"Humph." 

Was Tony blushing? Steve would have sworn it wasn't possible to embarrass him. "Tony?" 

"It's... um.. structural. Keeps the roof from falling in on us if we crash. Stark Crash Pole... and you're not buying this are you?" 

"Nope." 

"It's a hang over from my wild playboy days. Which you and Pepper tell me are over. Apparently." 

The plane having come to a stop, Tony straightened, picked up the suitcase containing the armour and bolted down the steps. A still-grinning Steve followed at his heels. 

"Tony, what have you done to your—?" Pepper demanded, only to be cut off as Tony flung his arms around her, swinging her up off her heels (though only by a couple of inches) and kissing her soundly. 

She seemed almost as surprised by this behaviour as Steve was... But then he hadn't really known Tony long enough to judge what was usual for him. Dismissing the thought, he skirted round the embracing couple and offered his hand to Hill, who shook it firmly. 

She nodded towards Pepper and Tony. "I can't imagine what she sees in him." 

Steve shrugged: "A handsome, billionaire genius with—?" 

"You really think he's good looking?" 

_Jesus, yes_ was what Steve thought but he battened down on his instinctive – and unwanted – reaction. He said, in measured tones, "It's a symmetrical, but interesting, face. I wonder if he'd let me draw him." Not that he hadn't been sketching Tony without his permission, though he was probably vain enough to be flattered by the attention, anyway. 

"Ah," Maria said, as if in revelation. "Of course, you were an artist." 

"Of sorts," Steve said dryly. "How come you were here to meet us?" 

Hill shrugged. "Once Fury knew Stark was coming back to New York he set a watch on Stark Tower. Once we saw Hogan and Potts were heading out through the Holland Tunnel, he figured this would be where you landed, even if your ultimate destination would be McGuire Field. Stark wouldn't have been allowed to land there – currently nothing is – but no one could stop him landing here. And no one is going to delay him with red tape on his own airfield." 

"Captain Rogers," Happy interrupted deferentially. "Thought you might want this," he added, offering a familiar red white and blue disc. 

Steve smiled at him, "Thank you, Happy." The shield felt good in his hands, comforting and familiar. Equally familiar, though, was the prickle of awareness, of unease. Since the serum, that instinct for danger had seldom let him down. 

"Got your uniform, too, when you need it." 

"Let's hope I don't," Steve said absently, turning slowly around. The airfield stretched away like a concrete desert, weeds emphasising the cracks in the runway, the buildings roofless and boarded up... except for the great hangar towering to their right, shadowing half the airfield with its bulk. 

The hangar. 

Steve craned his neck to stare up at it. 

The roof was a double curve, probably unsafe, but if Steve had been a sniper – as Bucky had been and that memory, as ever, brought a stab of pain – that is the place he would have chosen, if he needed to target someone here. 

Here and exposed. 

For a split second there was a coincidental silence – and in it there was a tiny sound, the slither of something soft – perhaps cloth or leather – far above, inaudible, perhaps, to anything but Steve's enhanced senses. 

A glance caught movement on the hangar roof, not a person but something straight and metal— 

And Steve was moving, shoving Hill to one side, Happy to the other, and throwing himself between the whatever-it-was on the hangar roof and Tony-and-Pepper, shield held high. 

Something hit hard, then again and again, making the shield ring in triple time. 

"Keep down!" he shouted, pushing Pepper to the ground and the shield into Tony's hands. 

Then he was running for the hangar, jinking from side to side at irregular intervals because, though there was no sound of gunfire – indeed, no sound at all – large chunks of pavement were flying through the air. One had glanced off his shoulder, but he ignored it the pain. He'd taken worse blows. 

The hangar was further away than he had thought, its size deceiving him, though he had been here before. Despite his speed, it took him far too long to take shelter under the concave sidewall. Part of that had broken away, and Steve dived through the gap, orientated himself, found a metal stairway and pounded up it, noting rust and bent metal as he went. 

The stairway led to a walkway in front of a line of offices, suspended just below the roof. Steve, hoping that his memory of this place wouldn't fail him now – how long ago was it that Howard had shown him round? A year? Seventy? – kicked down the door to the furthest office, broke the outside window, and leaped out to the access ladder that curved up onto the roof. 

He swarmed it at speed but, remembering the shots, he paused just below the roof and peered cautiously over the lip... 

Despite his care, he must have made some sort of noise, for the black clad figure disassembling what looked like a futuristic shotgun looked towards him, thrust the weapon haphazardly into a canvas bag, grabbed it, and fled across the roof. 

Growling to himself because if he'd not had to leave his shield to protect Tony and Pepper he could have brought the assassin down easily, Steve leaped up onto the roof, lowered his head and pounded after him. After all, there was nowhere for the guy to go... 

He only about two strides behind when the assassin reached the edge of the hangar roof. Even as Steve yelled, "Stop!" the assassin threw himself over the edge. Instantly, there was a flash of blue light, and the assassin vanished. Without thought, Steve leaped after him – and was instantly tumbling towards the concrete several hundred feet below. 

The impact, he realised, was not going to be something the serum could heal. 

Was this how Bucky had felt when—?

Implacable hands closed round his arms and he was hauled up through the air. 

Above, something exploded in a gush of golden fire. 

Instantly, Iron Man whirled about, putting the armour between the explosion and Steve, as the shock wave tumbled them across the sky. 

Even as they spun out of control, Steve was thinking about the effect on Tony's severely bruised ribs and winced in sympathy, and not just because the Iron Man's grip on his arms was tight enough to be painful. For which he was grateful... 

Regaining control of the Iron Man armour, Tony lowered them both to the hangar roof, now with an inconvenient hole about six feet wide bitten out of the edge below where the portal had been. 

"There's a faint trace of gamma radiation," Iron Man said, "and the explosion has done nothing for the building's structural integrity – and damn it, Cap, stay away from that hole because I'd rather carry you down than see you end up splat on the hangar floor." 

Steve held back his retort. Tony had earned the right to that crack. "Nothing to see up here," he said. "Give me a lift down?" 

"After that stunt? Try and stop me." 

 

Iron Man landed them both next to the limo just as a couple of SHIELD helicopters raced over the horizon. Happy was still covering Pepper with the shield, the case containing the suitcase armour at his feet, dented but unopened. 

Oh, yes, Tony had asked for Jarvis to deploy the Mark 8. Just as well, Steve thought, because the suitcase armour might not have been advanced enough to protect them both from the explosion. 

Hill, who was standing a little aside, switched off her communicator and swung on them, demanding, "What the hell happened?" 

"Sniper," Steve said. "He vanished through some kind of portal." 

"In a burst of gamma radiation," Iron Man added, and even through the distortion, Steve could hear a whole gamut of emotions, anger and fear at the front of them. He threw a glance at Tony, but the faceplate was still firmly in place. 

"I thought that blue flash was frighteningly familiar," Steve said. 

"Loki?" Hill demanded. 

"More likely left-over Hydra tech," Steve answered. He hoped. 

"Better suit up, Cap," Iron Man said brusquely. "We need to go see Velasco." 

Steve raised an eyebrow at Happy, who said, "Your uniform's in the trunk." 

"Thanks." Steve beckoned Happy to come with him, which he did without demur. Once they were out of Iron Man's hearing, he asked, in a low voice, "You got a first aid kit in there too?" 

"Sure. I've been with Mr Stark quite a while, Captain," Happy replied, deadpan. "Started out carrying aspirin and prophylactics but it kinda grew from there." 

Steve grinned at that. The feeling that there was a lot more to Happy Hogan than there appeared on the surface was growing stronger all the time. 

Was there a little twitch of those otherwise unsmiling lips? 

Certainly you needed a sense of humour to work for Tony Stark. 

Happy unlocked the trunk, extracted a familiar case and tossed it to Steve, who caught it one handed. Making sure that the limo shielded him from Pepper, Hill and Tony – for vastly different reasons he had no interest in examining too closely – he shed his jacket and shirt just as Happy came to join him carrying a boot case and a large box marked with a red cross. 

Happy drew in a sharp breath and put down the boot case. "What hit you?" 

"Chunk of concrete," Steve replied, peering over his shoulder in an attempt to see the damage. "I need you to tell me if it's just bruising or if it needs a dressing." He looked down at his shirt and added, "I guess it might." 

"It does," Happy grunted, "if you want to keep blood off your uniform. Bruising's worse. Surprised you're still movin'." 

Steve shrugged, willing himself not to wince. 

Happy muttered something that sounded very like, "Another one, damn it," but his touch was sure as he used an antiseptic wipe, and then applied a large adhesive dressing. "This really needs icing. You're gonna look like one of them abstract paintings Ms Potts likes tomorrow." 

"That's tomorrow. Thanks, Mr Hogan." Steve shed his pants and began assembling his uniform. 

Happy snorted, but extracted the boots from their case and held them ready for Steve to finish becoming Captain America. 

 

"You took your time," Iron Man said, when Steve, fully suited with the cowl up and shield on his right arm, ran across to where Tony was standing with Hill. The SHIELD agents from the helicopters were just arriving within shouting distance. "I've got clearance to land at McGuire. Let's go." 

He held out an arm and Steve stepped into his grip, his right foot resting on Iron Man's left. They shot into the air to the accompanying shouts of the SHIELD agents.


	11. Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Iron Man and Captain America to the rescue... but shocks and a different kind of danger for Tony and Steve.

The instant Steve's hand had closed on the armour's shoulder he felt the metal remould itself around his fingers. As Iron Man rose into the air, a hatch, less than an inch across, opened in the shoulder plate and a stalk emerged, the bulge at its end unfolding like a flower over Steve's face, as thin and light as paper, transparent over the eyes, protecting him from the battering of the wind and easing the difficulty of breathing as the armour accelerated.

Tony had said something about making it easier for them both when he carried Steve at speed. But the technologies Tony had employed to solve the problems of grip, impact and oxygen deprivation were, Steve guessed, unusual even for the twenty first century. Perhaps he ought to thank him.

Or perhaps that ought to wait, for the usually talkative Tony was, Steve noted, abnormally quiet as he flew them the eighty or so miles to McGuire. And what little he did say was through the Iron Man speakers, not Tony to Steve over the communicators. Of course, this might be because he was busy talking to Jarvis, SHIELD and the Air Force but, if so, Steve was not allowed to hear those conversations.

It seemed increasingly likely that Tony was mad at him for some reason, though Steve had been sure that he had gotten over his annoyance at being sedated and put to bed back in Oklahoma.

Ahead of them, the sky was now black with clouds, but not the great anvils of thunderclouds or an opaque iron-grey ceiling heavy with rain. Instead, low-level billows were being whipped into ragged streamers by the wind, flowing to the north-west.

Not clouds, he realised as they drew closer, but smoke rising from the remains of burnt and shattered buildings, continually renewing the streamers as the wind caught them, the brightness of flame flashing at their base.

The Iron Man rose upwards, so they could see the whole of the base below them. At the centre of the chaos was a giant hole, its depth masked by the blown smoke, but the size and shape could not be disguised; long and narrow, wider at one end than the other, the hole approximated the outline of one of the great Chitauri war engines.

"Well, fuck it, I guess that proves it," Iron Man said.

"We need to get down there," Steve replied.

"Yeah," and that was Tony's voice, not Iron Man's, over the communicators. "I'm calling the emergency services now." The timbre of his voice changed to the Iron Man synthesiser, but now Steve was included in those hearing him. "This is Iron Man. I have Captain America with me. You look like you could use some help down there. May we assist? Over."

"McGuire control to Iron Man. We have you on radar... And yeah, buddy, we could—"

"No, you could not," Fury's unmistakeable voice growled. "Stark, get your ass over to the helicarrier. This area's interdicted—"

"Blast you, Fury, this is no time for your political games," another voice interrupted. "Velasco here, Stark. If there's a chance either of you can locate survivors, go for it."

"That's what we aim to do."

"Colonel, might I remind you that you are not in command of either this base or this mission," Fury snapped, all pretence at protocol gone. "SHIELD has been given overall command by the President—"

"I don't care if you've been put in charge by God himself. My personnel—"

"And mine," a third voice said. "Colonel Marchand speaking. You may have command of some nebulous mission, Fury, but _I_ am in command of this base. What's left of it. You have permission to assist, Iron Man. Marchand over and out."

"That's our cue, Cap," Tony said. "Stark out."

 

At first under the darkness of the smoke, then in the darkness of evening, Steve worked side by side with the rescue teams. 

Iron Man – Tony – flew again and again into the heart of what remained of McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst, his sensors tuned to discover any trace of life, blasting aside the steel and stone with his repulsors. Steve followed up each of his calls, with the team that had congregated around him; medics, firemen, demolition experts, military engineers and SHIELD agents.

They put out fires, dug into smouldering piles of rubble and earth, and carried away bodies, alive and dead.

Finally, though, when Iron Man reported that there were no more life signs, however weak, and they had brought no one out alive for the last two hours, Steve admitted to himself that they were beaten.

It had also, at last, begun to rain.

Iron Man, his bright armour blackened with soot and scorched from who-knew-how-many close calls, fell from the roiling sky to pick up Steve and carry him to the helicarrier, now acting as field HQ.

 

"There's no one left alive down there," Tony reported, his faceplate raised for what must have been the first time since the armour had closed about him. He looked desperately tired, dark circles ringing those deceptively soft brown eyes, emphasised by skin that was much paler than normal, as if the stress had leached the tan away.

"The fire teams are withdrawing," Steve said. "There's heavy rain forecast and the fires can be left to burn themselves out."

"Some buildings are still burning," Fury pointed out. "Not to mention the tarmac."

Steve shrugged, and wished he hadn't, though he managed to conceal the pain. "That fuel's limited, so I'm told, and all the really flammable stuff went up with the first explosion." He glanced at Tony in what he hoped the other man could interpret as a warning. "Now we have a moment, I'd be grateful if someone would tell us exactly what happened here."

"Their leviathan exploded," Fury said laconically, looking from Steve to Tony as if daring either of them to comment.

"I thought leviathan was a sea-monster," Steve said, pedantically deciding that he was going to continue to call them 'troop carriers'. 

"Washington prefers it to 'space-dragons'," Velasco said dryly. 

"I can understand that," Tony agreed. "But that isn't what Cap was really asking. He and I both want to know what triggered the explosion."

"So do we all," Velasco said grimly.

"I never wanted that thing on my base," one of the two Air Force Colonels – Marchand presumably – growled feelingly.

"No one will if the damn things are going to blow sky high. However, he—" the other Colonel, who Tony had greeted as Velasco, jerked his thumb at Fury "—knows something. He just ain't telling."

"I know of something that could set off such an explosion," Fury said, forestalling Tony. "So does Stark. But if it was that, someone or something brought it here and it into contact with the leviathan."

Velasco was shaking his head. "Can't have happened. Security was tight as a drum around that thing, and those working on it died in the explosion."

"Doesn't rule them out," Fury said. 

"Or in," Tony corrected him. "There's someone out there with a device that can create teleportation portals. Something more like the Stargate than a Star Trek transporter."

"This isn't a TV show, Stark," Fury said testily.

"I only wish it was, but Cap and I saw it in operation today. Maybe that was how those 'leviathans' vanished from Manhattan."

"Some of them," Fury muttered.

"Are there any still in New York?" Steve asked, with sudden urgency.

"Key question," Tony said, with a nod in Steve's direction. "And the 'leviathans' aren't the only things you have to worry about, though they are, by far, the worst danger. Fury, what did you use for your test?"

"Scrapings from a Chitauri gun we'd pulled apart."

Tony nodded. "Just about anything Chitauri will explode when it meets this substance, which may or may not be alien. _Anything_. My samples are all sealed in vacuum right now – but I wouldn't like to bet how many pieces of tech are stored in garages or hung on the walls of dens – or Chitauri bodies cached in freezers or rotting somewhere out of sight and stink. But the real danger is, as Cap suggests, your 'leviathans'. And if they haven't already been moved out of Manhattan – in which case they're someone else's problem – I'm going to shift them myself to the bottom of the Atlantic. Tonight."

"They're out of New York," Fury said. "Leave the rest of it to SHIELD. It's our job."

Tony shook his head. "You're out of your depth, Fury. No, no, I am too. Whoever did this is either in touch with the Chitauri and whoever was behind them or is smart enough to analyse the Chitauri material and put together those bombs within a few weeks of the invasion. That makes them smarter than your scientists—"

"And you?" Velasco asked.

"And me and my own team. Which, considering who they are, means that I need to get to the Tower right now and find myself some clean underwear."

 

Steve had accepted Fury's offer to fly them both back to the Tower in a SHIELD helicopter and it said much for Tony's current state of exhaustion that he had made no more than a token protest. It might be the reason he had activated the faceplate. It was not, however, in Steve's opinion, the reason the chest and shoulders of the Iron Man suit seemed to be locked into an upright position. That, he suspected, had more to do with those bruised ribs, just as his own position, leaning forward slightly in his seat, was adopted to avoid pain from his back. That also felt damp, itchy and uncomfortable, which probably meant the dressing had been blood-soaked and was now drying. Luckily, this uniform was waterproof.

He was relieved when they landed neatly on the Tower's helicopter pad but that feeling vanished when he saw Maria Hill waiting for them, a slight smile on her face.

Tony's reaction was predictable. "Jarvis! Security breach!"

"Deputy Director Hill arrived with Ms Potts, sir," Jarvis intoned. "Did you wish me to deny them both entry?"

"You should have realised Pepper was under duress."

"Ms Potts," Hill said, "was _distressed_ , Stark. By what happened. By your actions. I don't know if the assassination attempt was aimed at you or her, but she needed more protection than that chauffeur of yours could give her." She pushed past the two men towards the helicopter, which was still sitting on the pad, plainly waiting for her.

"Hill—" Tony said. Then, as she turned and looked back, "Thank you."

It was, Steve realised, more than Tony had said to him.

"You look after Virginia Potts, Stark," Hill said gruffly. "She's worth ten of you." She grinned, suddenly. "She's also damn mad at you right now." With that, she ducked into the helicopter, which lifted away into the night.

Iron Man made the short flight to his own landing pad, where the bots stripped away his armour, though he waited for Steve to join him there.

It turned out he had a motive for that. "Steve, may I borrow your shower?" he asked. "Pepper is going to yell at me, and I'd prefer to be able to just fall into bed and ignore her. I'd also be grateful for the loan of a clean tee and a pair of sweat-pants or pyjama bottoms."

"No problem," Steve said. "Why the T-shirt?"

"The light from the ARC reactor stops Pepper sleeping."

It will also hide your bruises, Steve thought, but didn't comment. If it came to the point he was on Tony's side, and always would be. Not that he would blame Pepper for yelling – he only wished he had the right to do it himself.

He waited until Tony had shambled off towards his own bed before shedding his uniform and peeling away the dressing. The bleeding had, as he had expected, stopped, and by peering over his shoulder into the bathroom mirror he could see that the scratches were already scabbed and healing, though the bruising would not, he supposed, look its worst until morning.

Except that it was morning. Well, daylight was only a few hours away.

He tumbled naked into bed, and was asleep immediately.

 

When he woke it was full daylight.

"Good morning, Captain," Jarvis greeted him. "It is 10:30 am, EST. The weather is fine, with a light cloud cover. Outside temperature is sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit and humidity is at seventy-five per cent. There is a ten per cent chance of rain in the afternoon."

"Good morning, Jarvis. Is Tony still asleep?" Steve asked.

"No, sir. He is in a meeting with Ms Bartowlski."

"Am I allowed to know who that is?"

"Of course, Captain. She was head of Stark International's legal department until Ms Potts and Mr Stark appointed her as legal consultant for Stark Energy. However, Mr Stark tends to use her as his personal lawyer."

"Ah, the will."

"Just so, Captain. However, Ms Potts wishes to speak with you. She is in her office."

"Do you know what she wants to talk to me about?"

"I couldn't say, Captain."

Steve took a deep breath. Talking with Pepper in the kitchen of the penthouse was quite a different thing from being summoned to the office of Ms Virginia Potts, CEO, Stark Industries.

Though, since he had met Presidents and Prime Ministers and Generals and Admirals who were now legends, and not been intimidated by any of them, there was no reason his stomach should lurch like this.

Admit it, he lectured himself. It's not because she's Stark Industries CEO, it's because she's Tony's girl, and you're not at all sure if she trusts you. And you suspect that, if she decides she doesn't want you here, Tony will go along with her.

No use putting it off, though.

 

Marilyn Bartowlski had, by some quirk of genetics, inherited her father's height and blond hair and her mother's tight curls and huge brown eyes, while her skin was milky coffee. The blondness disguised the fact that the hair was now turning grey, so she looked far younger than she was.

She was also one of his father's inspirations. He had seen brilliance in the struggling young lawyer and brought her into the Stark Industries fold, offering her promotion and recognition and a salary that had exceeded her wildest dreams.

Tony had made damn sure that salary kept growing. She also owned a good deal of Stark Industries stock, and he intended her for the board just as soon as he could wrangle it.

"So, have you got a final updated will for me to sign?" Tony asked, after the usual friendly greetings and enquiries about her sons and daughter had elicited a positive response. "Incorporating the amendments I sent you yesterday?"

"Yes, if you haven't thought of any more since then. I like to think of your will as my continuous masterpiece in progress.” 

"This it?" Tony reached for the folder she had placed on the table.

"Your will is locked in my briefcase. That is the hard copy of the contract you asked for before you disappeared into wherever it is billionaire superheroes go to get away from it all."

Tony hesitated, looking at the folder as if it might bite him. He tapped it with one finger. "Is this so explosive that you needed to bring it yourself?"

"You should know. You signed it."

Tony's eyebrows drew together, a danger sign she had learnt to recognise twenty years ago.

"But I needed to see you privately for another reason," she went on hurriedly. "You know Pepper Potts asked me to accompany her to Washington..."

Tony's frown did not vanish. "She did? I thought your team was up to their necks in negotiations on the Stark Energy foreign subsidiaries and you needed to ride herd on them."

"Pepper asked me to put them on hold to give her a better position in Washington."

"She— Okay, I guess I understand why she did that, but then it's her job to be concerned with the SI Board and the stock market and to make money. I have a wider concern: I want clean energy available to everyone in the world. God knows, there's enough profit involved from the Electronics division and Repulsor Technology division for her."

"That's between you and her," Marilyn said firmly. "But it's not why I wanted to see you personally – and, though I presume that ever-present super-computer of yours is recording these proceedings, I want your assurance that, otherwise, this room is secure."

"Perfectly secure." Tony was now watching her with interest.

"Do you remember a woman I hired on Pepper's instructions last year? I think she worked with you both for a while. Natalie Rushman. A redhead. Very well qualified but left in a hurry shortly after that disastrous affair at Stark Expo."

"Yes," Tony said slowly. "I remember Natalie." He was beginning to be worried where this might be leading and wished he'd brought Pepper, or possibly Steve, with him. "Are you sure it Pepper who recruited her? I thought she'd been sent down from Legal."

"I remembered because it was so unusual – Ms Potts doing something like that, I mean, and insisting Rushman bring the transfer papers down to her personally. And approving her transfer to your personal staff."

"But—" But Pepper had tried to keep Natasha away from him, had told him firmly that he couldn't have her on staff, had been – damn it – jealous...

What had he heard Obie tell Pepper once? "The best way to get Tony to do something is to tell him he can't."

"She isn't currently a redhead," Marilyn was continuing, quite oblivious of his confusion, "or employed by us, of course, but she contacted me when I was in Washington, took me to lunch, actually. Lots of girl talk – and gave me something to pass on to you."

"Which was?"

"This." Marilyn pushed a small hard case, presumably containing a cell phone, across the desk. "She said the company had issued it to her, but she'd forgotten to hand it back. But she was also insistent that I give it only to you, personally, and that there was something on it you needed to see."

"Okay." Tony was pleased to hear his voice sound so normal. So, the Widow and Hawkeye were in the capital – a dangerous place for them to be, but he wouldn't have dared to argue with either of them. And for Natasha to put in an appearance as Natalie Rushman meant that she had something very important to convey to him.

"Is she blackmailing you?" Marilyn asked suddenly.

"Uh. No. Why should you think that?" The words were out of Tony's mouth before he realised it might have been better to let Marilyn go on thinking just that.

"Because she was here at a time when your behaviour was... questionable."

"My behaviour is always questionable," Tony said lightly. "Now, hand over that will and go find me a couple of witnesses while I read it, and we'll get it signed."

 

Steve was plainly expected in Pepper's office suite, because a secretary waved him through to the PA's office and the PA, presumably alerted by the secretary, was already on his feet to usher him into the inner sanctum.

Pepper rose from behind her desk and came to greet him. "Steve, thank you for coming. Coffee and danish?”

"Yes, thank you, Pepper."

She led the way to a broken circle of comfortable looking sofas, with a low glass table at its centre.

"And thank you for saving all our lives yesterday," she added, placing a mug full of coffee and a plate piled high with pastries in front of Steve.

"It's one of the things I'm here for," Steve pointed out, before taking a large swig of coffee. It was excellent and just how he liked it. Cautiously, he approached the pastries. They were excellent too.

Pepper watched him eat with approval. Then, after a while, she said: "Steve, I know how much you respect Tony, but for his sake, you have to talk to me."

Steve eyed her warily; this was a very different Pepper from the one who he met occasionally in the tower Penthouse. This was a focused and formidable woman.

"What do you want to know?" he asked cautiously.

"Do you know what's happening between Tony and Jim – Colonel Rhodes?"

Steve hadn't been expecting that. "Haven't you asked Tony?" he questioned cautiously.

"Of course. Last night he was too tired to communicate in anything but grunts. This morning— Well, I wouldn't be asking you if I'd gotten anything coherent out of him before he disappeared, apparently into a meeting he'd normally avoid if at all possible. What he did say was that I am not to allow Jim back into the Tower. Which is ridiculous because Jim has the override codes to Tony's workshop as well as the penthouse." 

Steve shook his head. "Tony ordered Jarvis to revoke his privileges."

Pepper's eyes widened, just a fraction, but Steve felt certain that that was a danger sign. "Damn," she said, in a far too mild tone. "Damn. Why, Steve? They've been friends for... well, for over twenty years. I used to envy Jim Rhodes for being closer than— so close to Tony. He even stole Tony's tech – the so-called War Machine armour – and Tony let him get away w— forgave him." She paused, and then added, as though Steve hadn't figured this out, "As far as Tony's concerned there's no greater crime than taking his tech. So, what the hell did Jim do?"

Steve was still hesitating, wondering if a reply would be a betrayal of Tony's trust. On the other hand, this was Pepper, and Tony had made no attempt to swear him to secrecy. He said, cautiously, "They had an argument which they both handled badly. I think Tony sees Rhodes's loyalty to the Air Force as a personal betrayal."

"I... see," Pepper said, and Steve was suddenly sure she saw a great deal more than his words had revealed. Indeed, she looked dismayed.

"Br— We thought Tony would calm down and eventually understand."

Pepper was shaking her head. "Calm down, yes. Understand? Intellectually, maybe. I was hoping... after the invasion... that he might be a little less self-centred. But caring more for the Air Force than Tony may be one of those invisible lines that, once you've crossed, you're locked out."

"You just pointed out that Rhodes has crossed some of those lines before, and Tony forgave him. He doesn't give up on people he loves."

Pepper smiled at him with real affection. "I do hope you're right, Steve. Now, please finish those pastries before I'm tempted to eat one."

 

The first thing Tony did after seeing Marilyn into the express elevator was to storm into Pepper's office, waving her PA aside.

Pepper took one look at his expression and said, to the man and woman sitting opposite her at her desk, "If you'll excuse me for a moment, there's something I need to deal with." To Tony she said, "Conference room?"

He nodded, and said to the visitors, "Make yourselves at home, why don't you? Pepper keeps her booze in the filing cabinet – which is, of course, the only reason to have a filing cabinet—" He was cut off by the closing door as Pepper herded him out of the room.

Once in the CEO's conference room, Pepper rounded on him, "What the hell is this about, Tony?"

Tony's stare was equally challenging. "Did you forge my signature on a contract leasing the _Stark Arctic Discoverer_ to a company called Skjöldur Exploration? On the same day a Russian oil company found the Red Skull's Flying Wing? A few days before they found Cap?"

Pepper frowned at him. "I do not forge your signature, Tony, though I am often tempted. If your signature is on that contract, you signed it."

"Not knowingly," Tony snapped. "Look up the meaning of that company name if you want to know why. Also, I seem to recall leaving explicit instructions that _everything_ concerning those vessels requires my personal approval."

"You used to give me all sorts of instructions like that one, and when I tried to get your personal approval you'd deny it."

"No, you'd give me a pile of papers to sign—"

"With instructions to read them."

"Which you knew I wouldn't."

"Your problem, Tony."

"No, Pepper, it is your problem that you leased my tech to SHIELD. Are still leasing my tech to SHIELD."

"I thought you were pleased SHIELD found Captain America. You seem to be getting along surprisingly well with him."

Tony ignored that; Pepper did not have to know about his first disastrous encounters with Steve. "SHIELD did not find Cap. The Russians found the Skull's craft. They called the nearest scientific base, which happened to be one of ours. The base called Washington, who sent out a military team, which included a SHIELD agent, and he contacted Fury, who sent an aircraft to secure the site and leased the _Arctic Discoverer_. He probably crewed it with SHIELD scientists and certainly sent it post haste into the frozen north. SHIELD had given up on Cap too."

"Tony, he'd been missing, presumed dead, for nearly _seventy years_."

"Not just 'missing, presumed dead.' He'd been declared dead. But Dad never gave up on him and he was right." 

Pepper threw up her hands. "Oh, for pity's sake, Tony! What does it matter?"

"It matters because we cannot trust SHIELD. We cannot trust the government. We cannot trust the military. We cannot trust the Board. We're on our own, Pep. Totally on our own. "

"You're endangering Stark Industries, Tony."

"You may have endangered the future of this planet and all life on it, Pepper."

Pepper rose to her feet to face him. "Now you are being ridiculous."

"Well, someone doesn't find it ridiculous; why would anyone try to kill me except to stop or at least delay the rollout of the ARC reactors indefinitely?" 

"I can think of a dozen reasons," Pepper told him. "Not the least of which is sheer exasperation. Now, I need to get back to my visitors. We'll talk about this later."

 

Stomping out of Pepper's office suite, Tony took the elevator to his workshop, where he switched on the mobile phone, threw it onto a workbench, and addressed Jarvis. "This mobile phone was sent to me by Romanoff. It's supposed to contain an urgent message, but it will be encrypted. The Black Widow apparently thinks that you and I can crack it."

"I am sure she does, sir. On the day you defeated Loki and the Chitauri, the night she stayed here, Agent Romanoff loaded a data set onto my servers."

"She what? Why didn't you tell me that before, Jarvis? She might have compromised your integrity."

"She did not, sir. At her request, I isolated the data set and scanned it; it contains nothing dangerous. She assured me I would know when to use it and that, at that time, you would give me the order to do so."

"Guess I'd better do it. Get cracking, Jarvis."

There was a pause while Jarvis, who operated in nano-seconds, contemplated the pun. "At once, sir," he said, finally.

Tony flung himself into a chair and spun round several times. But waiting for Jarvis to crack the codes wasn't in his nature. He needed to share, but he was still furious with Pepper. Besides, this was Avengers' business, which meant that the only other person available who ought to hear it or see it or whatever he was going to find on the machine was Steve.

Who he was also still angry with. 

Except he had no right to be angry. Steve had acted to save lives – his, Pepper's, Happy's and Hill's – before putting his own at incredible risk. Tony hadn't been able to decide, when he landed on that hangar roof, whether he wanted to hug Steve or hit him, then shake him until his teeth rattled.

None of which were possible.

Manhandling Captain America, even in the armour, would probably have ended in disaster and, even if they had been close enough friends to share a hug, there wouldn't have been much satisfaction in it with metal between them.

Though it would probably be safer.

He shook himself. He had no right to lecture Steve about recklessness, one way or the other. Time to put his feelings on the subject behind him.

"Jarvis, is Captain Rogers in his apartment?"

"No, sir. He's in the swimming pool."

"Private or company?"

"The private pool, sir."

 

Stark Tower actually had a number of pools open to SI employees, but those were in the basement. The Penthouse's private pool was much smaller, on the lowest floor of what was on its way to becoming the Avengers complex. It was long and narrow, almost, but not quite, a lap pool, its water reaching several feet up the floor to ceiling windows that made it look as if you could swim out into the familiar cityscape. The tiles alone, blue and green and silver, had cost a small fortune.

Pepper used it regularly, Tony occasionally, but Steve was more often to be found in an employee gym or out running on the streets and in Central Park. But this morning it was too late for him to do either without attracting unwanted attention, and Tony found him cutting through the water with more power than technique, but still at a speed that an Olympic champion would envy.

"Hey, Steve!"

Steve finished the length just below Tony's feet and hauled himself up out of the pool, muscles moving in perfect synchrony.

Except that his right back and side were a mass of bruises, black and yellow with red-brown streaks of newly-formed scabs.

Tony felt a surge of rage at the defiling of that perfect body. "What the hell happened to you?" he snarled.

"It's just a bruise," Steve told him, reaching casually for a towel. "Got a bit of a knock from a chunk of concrete."

"And you said nothing? You let me drag you about the sky, spent the rest of the day and half the night moving bodies and rubble? Dear God, Cap, wasn't that suicide attempt off the hangar roof enough for you?"

"I wasn't—" Steve began, but Tony overrode him.

"Like hell you weren't! I realise you don't like it here, but if you're that keen to escape from the twenty-first century I'll give you a damn gun – at least it'll be clean!"

"I was not trying to kill my—"

"That wasn't lying down on the wire, fuck it, that was standing in no man's land with a searchlight on you while holding up a notice saying 'Shoot Me' and a big target replacing the star on your chest.

Steve said, through his teeth, "I was trying to follow the man who tried to kill you through the portal."

"And if you'd made it through you would have been just as dead, because you’d be surrounded by the fucking enemy with no weapons and no way back and no way of contacting me or SHIELD or _anyone_!" Tony took a deep breath, still not sure why he was shouting at Steve but unable to stop himself, even now. "And you preferred that or falling to your death to waiting for reinforcements—"

"I knew Jarvis was sending the Mark 8 – and you had the suitcase suit."

"Like hell. You never gave that a thought. You just didn't care about your own life."

Steve's jaw was jutting dangerously. He stared at Tony for a long moment, then turned away and strode for the door.

Tony felt a surge of panic: was Steve going to walk away from the Tower for a second time? In just his speedos? No way.

He leaped after him, snatching at his arm. "Hey, look at me when I'm yelling at—" 

Steve spun about, fist heading straight for Tony's chin.

Tony hadn't even begun to articulate the thought that, "Christ, he's going to break my jaw!" when the fist changed direction, uncurled, grasped Tony's wrist, pulled his hand free from Steve's arm and used it to toss him through the air.

He hit the water ass first, and hard. It left him with an open mouth and too much water coming in as he thrashed his way back to the surface.

Hands steadied him. "God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Steve was saying, next to his ear, sounding... panicked? "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Tony said, coughing water. "C'n swim... better than... you can." He pulled away from Steve, swam to the edge of the pool and climbed out, appropriating Steve's fallen towel.

When he'd got the water out of his eyes he was relieved to find Steve hadn't left but was sitting on the edge of the pool, his legs in the water, watching him. Tony folded into a cross-legged position beside him and removed his shoes, shaking the water out of them.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Steve asked him, voice and body both stiff with tension. "This was why I needed to leave, because I wanted to hit you and your ribs are bruised and you have restricted lung capacity and unless you put on the damn suit I'd seriously hurt you."

"I'm fine," Tony said, though he was shaking, not so much with cold as with anger, not at Steve but at his own stupidity. He knew Steve had a temper, knew he kept it under strict control just _because_ it was so easy for him to hurt people.

A control that Tony could, apparently, break with alarming ease.

"You scared me yesterday," Tony said. "And if I'd known about that injury—"

"We would have had this fight then. But at least you would have been in the suit," Steve said dryly.

"I'm lousy at hand to hand," Tony admitted. "Happy tried to teach me to box, but then Natasha flattened him without trying. Hey." He nudged Steve with his elbow. "Who would win a fight between you two?"

"Depends on whether she had weapons and if I had my shield," Steve said, the tension visibly beginning to leave his body. "I'm just fast and strong. She's all technique. I wish I had her training."

"Hey, we can do that, or at least start. Suppose I get some Jedi masters in to teach both of us?"

"I'd like that – if I knew what 'jedi' was. Is it a form of ju-jitsu?”

"Discover that you will, young Jedi."

"You're joshing me," Steve said with a smile.

Tony smiled back. "Of course I am."

"Sir," Jarvis's voice interrupted their moment of empathy. "Ms Romanoff's data set indeed unlocks and decodes the phone. There are a number of text and sound files, and a video. Do you wish to view this now?"

Steve's eyebrows quirked.

"I've gotten a secret message from Natasha. It's what I came to tell you. Let's get changed and we'll view it down in the shop." 

 

Once again dry and respectably clad – well, Tony's T-shirt wasn't really all that respectable, but at least it was clean and dry – they met in the workshop to watch Natasha's message.

However, instead, it was Clint's face that appeared on the big screen. "Hello, Tony," he said. "Thanks for the assist, pal. This is in part repayment and part self-preservation. Jarvis should have all the details for you in the compressed files but, to summarise: both you and Cap are under attack from our own government. 

"First thing of all, the Department of Defense have persuaded the government to enact an emergency measure granting the Army exclusive and perpetual copyright on the Captain America name and uniform. They're also claiming that, as Cap was upgraded by a 'government project' – and they carefully don't specify which government project – he belongs to them, body and soul."

"Well," Tony observed, as he paused the video feed with the flick of a finger. "They're going to have problems with the soul and no-one really believes in that aspect of dualism nowadays, or no-one who is properly educated does. I stress the 'properly'—"

"Tony!" Steve said sharply. It bothered him that Tony, who was the smartest man he had ever met, did not believe either of them had a soul – did not, he suspected, believe in God. Howard hadn't, and that should have sent Tony into the arms of the church if nothing else did, but in this case it really was like father, like son.

"We're going fight them," Tony went on grimly. "I think we'll have public sympathy, as well as legal precedent. They never patented any of the elements of Project Rebirth and they've got no evidence of any later success. Erskine died a long time ago and if anyone else has any kind of claim I guess it would be my Dad, so Stark Industries is about to start a nuisance counter-claim."

"Are you going to claim I belong to Stark Industries, body and ... not soul?" Steve asked.

There was an abrupt silence, then Tony lowered his eyelashes and looked at Steve from under them. "Well, not to Stark Industries, at any rate," he purred.

Even though there was no one else in the room to hear that innuendo, and Steve was sure Tony did not mean that the way it sounded, he felt heat begin to rise to his face. Carefully not replying to it, he said, "I take it they'd find it difficult to claim they owned Steve Rogers, or have they amended that out of the Bill of Rights?"

"Not that I know about," Tony replied. "Look, are you suggesting that you abandon 'Captain America'? Because I have to say I am not okay with that. Not at all. There's a whole history of heroism that goes with—"

"I make no personal claim on the name – it wasn't my idea –" Steve said firmly. "I can be Captain Rogers." He grinned. "Which is laying just as great a claim to the heritage, as it happens."

"It would certainly confuse them," Tony agreed. "Everyone knows Steve Rogers was Captain America, and if you use 'Captain Rogers' most people will assume you're thumbing your nose at the government. Even if they believe it's your real name, they'll probably think you're your own grandson..."

That produced another grin. "They'll have problems finding a candidate because I haven't any descendents."

"You're sure?"

Steve shrugged. "Before the serum, women didn't want to date me and I wasn't the sort to pay for it, even if I could have afforded to. After the serum – well, by then I'd met the only woman I wanted to spend my life with. I'd plenty of opportunity when I was with the USO – but that would have betrayed what I felt for her."

"Peggy Carter."

Steve's mouth twisted. "You heard. From Howard?"

"Oh, your romance is a well known story. Carter hated the exploitation."

"You met Peggy?" Steve was vaguely aware that his childlike wonder at this must be obvious to Tony, but he didn't really care.

"Yeah. She was kind to me."

Though Tony was trying to sound indifferent it was plain that this simple courtesy had affected him deeply. Had his childhood really been that bad?

"When I was little she'd come to consult with the Old Man," he expanded. "They were a formidable team. God only knew what adding you to mix would have done: tyrants would tremble, congressmen quake—"

"She's still alive, according to SHIELD. I could contact her, I suppose, but I don't think that's fair to her. If she's seen Captain America on TV she probably thinks I'm a substitute and hates me for it." 

Tony looked doubtful. "SHIELD may have briefed her," he said. "I would have done, in case the press contacted her for a quote. And you're pretty unmistakeable, particularly to someone who... knew you that well."

"She's in her nineties," Steve pointed out. "I don't think either of us could face that right now." He abruptly changed the subject. "The uniform's not important either," he went on, determined to be rational about this though the betrayal by the government, _his_ government, hurt deeply. "In fact, the government may be right that it holds the copyright. You've been wanting to upgrade my body armour, Tony; now's your chance. I'm more worried about my shield."

"Again, that's Stark manufacture. Dad may not have patented it, but there's massive evidence for _prior art_ if anyone else tries," Tony reassured him. "The damages I demand are going to be enormous. They may fund the Avengers for the next ten years. Okay, Jarvis, let's have the rest of it." 

"Secondly," Clint continued, "someone – we suspect Roxxon Oil and Hammer, among others – has persuaded various members of the government and Congress to attempt to grant eminent domain purchase of the ARC technology as being vital to the commercial and military interest of the United States."

"Can they do that?" Steve asked in horror.

"They can try," Tony said, and Clint's image was stilled and silenced. "But with any luck they'll be too late."

"You're far too calm about this. Suppose they try to sequester the Iron Man?"

"Steve, they've been trying to steal my armour for years. I'm used to this. A different era and they'd be trying to nationalise Stark Industries too – not that that would do them much good. Most of the key subsidiaries are now registered overseas, and most of the StarkEnergy factories will be too, if the deals I'm working on come through. This is where I miss Dad," he added ruefully, "and even Obie, damn his black soul."

"I thought you didn't believe we had souls."

"Metaphor, Rogers, metaphor. I don't have the clout with the White House or the Department of Defense that I had when I was their chief armourer, and Trade and Energy are in the pocket of the big oil companies, but I should be able to track down who's behind this, and why the White House is backing them. Let me deal with all of it. I'll just need your proxy for the legal department." He took a deep breath, then went on, his voice taking real fierceness. "They've taken everything else from you; I'm damned if they're going to take the name, the uniform or the shield. Next, Jarvis!"

"One last thing:" Clint said, "Wakanda's apparently interested in you. That won't mean anything, I guess. We think Wakanda is based in East Africa – at least, its interests seem to be represented by Kenya, Tanganyika and Uganda, though they're scared stiff of it and ain't talking. Best guess is that Wakanda is an enclave, kinda like Swaziland, or it's a tribe or a secret society. Maybe all three. There was something happening in East Africa – and by something I mean like Hulk or Thor something – around the time you were under attack by Hammer, Tony, but we didn't manage to get in, according to Coulson at any rate. Thanks for attending his funeral, by the way. That meant a lot to us. We'll be in touch again when we've got more info. Ciao."

"Well, that's out of left field," Steve said. "You heard of this Wakanda?"

"No," Tony said. "But I may have encountered them... it... whatever. I may even have been both interrogated and hacked by them. Jarvis!"

"Sir."

"Start a search for anything at all on Wakanda. And you might start with the events of Coulson's wake and everything to do with vibranium and the people who tried to hack us for info on its manufacture."

"Already on it, sir. 

"Good. Then line up the info the Widow and Clint sent us, with printouts for Steve. And alert Marilyn that she isn't going home for a while..."


	12. Traps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony lays a trap and falls into one. The results of laying the trap are far more disturbing.

 

Over the next couple of months Steve was treated to the spectacle of a Tony Stark he had not known existed, a whirlwind of a businessman and engineer, who orchestrated counter-attacks on government, the military, the judiciary and Wall Street with surprising skill and obvious glee.

The Stark Industries/Anthony E. Stark lawsuits against the government were issued before the Pentagon actually asserted its 'rights' in respect of the super-soldier process and the name and costume attached to 'Captain America'. The whole mess seemed to be destined for the Supreme Court, probably in twenty years time.

The press still continued to use the name Captain America, even though Steve himself made no claim on it, asking them to address him as "Captain Rogers" and – after a long and acrimonious argument with Tony – exchanging the famous and traditional red, white and blue uniform for a new costume in midnight blue and silver, though the lightweight armoured fabric, originally developed by SI for special forces and improved by Tony, had chameleon qualities. The shield, itself the subject of a two-way patent dispute, was now painted in the same deep blue, though if you saw it in direct light and from particular angles, it was touched with stars.

The partnership of Iron Man and Captain America – whatever he or the US government wanted the public to call him – dealt firmly with previously untouchable mobsters, stopped a minor war between two megalomaniacal (and oil rich) dictators and eliminated an outbreak of piracy in the Gulf of Mexico.

The tag team of Stark, Bartowlski and Potts, meanwhile, accelerated negotiations with a number of countries to place manufacturing facilities in what would, effectively, be free port enclaves, in return for access to the new technology. Capitol Hill and the Joint Chiefs called this 'treason' and Stark called it 'good business.' Conspiracy websites suddenly began carrying detailed information about an apparent government attempt to suppress the new Stark green energy technology and linked this with the attempts on the inventor's life. A surprising number of Senators and Congressmen suddenly went on the record in support of Stark Industries, particularly after opinion polls showed a similar opinion amongst the general public.

The President remained remarkably quiet on the subject, though with an election approaching she would soon have to break her silence.

And no one mentioned eminent domain.

It was a truce, but plainly, it was not going to last indefinitely.

Tony's only failure seemed to be with Wakanda, which remained as much a mystery as ever. Indeed, it caused him, in a fit of pique, to remark that, "Obviously the first rule of Wakanda is that you do not talk about Wakanda." This in turn led to Steve spending an uncomfortable two hours watching a movie that, for all its undoubted brilliance, left him shaking his head over a morality that seemed not to have improved since Prohibition.

 

Inside Stark Tower, Steve's adjustment to life in the twenty-first century continued apace. True to his word, Tony had managed to persuade, or more probably bribe, two standout teachers of hand-to-hand combat, including disciplines of which Steve hadn't even heard, to come to the tower to tutor them both. Also, and this really surprised Steve, he managed to clear enough of his schedule to attend each class, though it was Steve who invited Pepper and Happy.

Pepper wasn't there very often, but Happy applied himself with grim determination. Being outclassed by the Black Widow apparently rankled in a way that being outclassed by Steve did not.

Steve, who now knew what a Jedi was, was fascinated by the philosophy behind what their instructor called _wushu_ and Tony _kung fu_. Within a month he was also attending _dojos_ specialising in karate and kendo, and passing much of the practice he learned on to Tony and Happy. Their instructor in close combat, who had trained Marines, police and film stunt men, immediately recognised the moves that Steve had learned in a hurried week's training in England in 1942 (arranged by Peggy) as being Fairbairn-Sykes methods. His response had been, "Holy shit, you _are_ the original Captain America," and was overjoyed – and envious – when he discovered that Steve had been instructed by Major Sykes himself.

Tony worked surprisingly hard, with the same fierce concentration Steve had seen during his manic bouts of creative engineering. It wasn't as easy for him as it was for Steve, whose muscle memory was phenomenal, but no one could fault his application. On those days where there were no lessons, Steve could usually persuade Tony to spar with him and it seemed to him that Tony enjoyed those sessions more than the formal lessons.

The work on the conversion of the floors of the tower just below the penthouse to accommodate the (still mainly absent) Avengers proceeded apace with Steve – and Pepper, when available – attempting to put a brake on Tony's wilder and inevitably more expensive ideas.

Before he knew Tony well enough to have a clear idea of his motives, Steve had been dragged into every room in the Avengers part of the Tower to find the one with the best light. Within a week, and without his knowledge or input, it had been converted into an extensively equipped artist's studio.

With that example to spur him on, Steve had attempted to put his foot down. Finally, he had been allowed, a tad grudgingly, to design and decorate his own quarters. It had been even more difficult to persuade Tony to make the other suites a blank canvas that the appropriate Avenger could tweak to their own requirements, but he and Pepper had managed it between them.

There was a pattern to Tony's actions that Steve had come to recognise. To Pepper Potts, who loved Tony but, Steve was beginning to suspect, loved her work and the company as much – he hoped, for Tony's sake, that it was not more – Tony had gifted the company itself, or rather, the thing she most wanted, which was the power to run it as it needed to be run.

Then there was James Rhodes – Tony had not only allowed him to keep the stolen armour but upgraded and tailored it for him. Rhodes had plainly wanted to be a superhero, and Tony had indulged him. Even now he had not demanded its return. 

And then there was the Tower. Avengers Tower, apparently, if the Avengers were going to exist in the future. 

When Tony needed people he flung things at them – not money, just anything he had until he found something that would keep them close.

Steve, who had always hated working alone, both empathised and found it oddly endearing – when he wasn't the target of it.

In the shared areas of the Avengers quarters, though, Tony had his own way. Not that Steve was allowed to use to kitchen area, because Tony had made it clear that he expected him in the penthouse or the workshop, if he happened to be there himself, for breakfast and dinner.

That memorable morning in October, sea fog had swirled in below Stark Tower, filling the streets and lapping halfway up the sides of the skyscrapers, hiding the traffic and the people making their way cautiously along the streets below. It made Steve itch to get out his watercolours and try to capture the interplay of mist and sunlight and glass.

But it wasn't the glory of that autumn morning that etched that breakfast onto the memory of the three people bickering amiably in the penthouse kitchen, not even that it was the last moment of calm before the approaching storm, but that it was the last time that the three of them would eat breakfast there together.

Both Pepper and Steve were eyeing Tony uneasily. Normally he shambled in wearing whatever he had slept in – occasionally just in a T shirt, in which case one of them would turn him back towards the bedroom with instructions of "Pants, Tony," – while they were finishing their own meals, and slump down, waiting for one of them to place his first mug of coffee in front of him. This morning, however, he had been fully dressed and alert before either of them arrived.

Pepper finally decided to take advantage of this sudden change in his habits. She cleared her throat. "Tony, Jarvis tells me that your diary is clear today except for the charity gala at the Met tonight—"

"Jarvis is wrong," Tony said cheerfully, rising to his feet.

"If that just means you're going to play around in your workshop, you can attend the meeting with the Trade Undersecretary at eleven—"

"At eleven I shall be on the other side of the continent," Tony replied, shoving back his chair and leaning over to kiss Pepper on the cheek.

"That's not poss—" Pepper was cut off as Tony switched from her cheek to her lips.

"It is in the Iron Man suit," Tony said, releasing her. "I'm going to drop in on the boys and girls at Stark Air Specialists and see how they're getting on with my secret project."

"What secret project is that?" Pepper asked sharply.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret. Besides, it's for the Avengers." Tony ruffled Steve's hair with one hand and abstracted a slice of toast from his plate with the other while Steve was making vague gestures of protest. He swept out in satisfied silence.

Pepper fixed a firm eye on Steve. "Do you know what he was talking about?"

"I don't even know where Stark Air Services is," Steve admitted, as he finger-combed his hair back into place. "Or what it is, come to that. Tony's never mentioned it."

"It's part of the Seattle complex," Pepper told him absently. "Well, he'd better be back in time for the charity gala. I'd better go look in his wardrobe and make sure he has a clean and decent tux."

"I'm sure he has—" But Pepper had already snatched up her shoes and was gone.

 

Tony posed with his armoured foot on the body of the huge, bear-like creature that had been rampaging through the Seattle suburbs and tried to ignore the faintly green tinge visible where the light from the midday sun touched its charcoal-grey pelt. Also the information Jarvis was feeding into the HUD, which included a faint trace of modified gamma radiation. 

"Grandstanding again, Stark?" Steve's voice said in his ear, full of amusement.

"Watching the idiot box again, Rogers?" Tony retorted, feeling immeasurably cheered to know his partner was keeping watch, even from the other side of the continent. 

"Jarvis says that thing was mutated by the process that produced the Hulk."

"Jarvis is speculating."

"Be careful, Tony." Steve's voice was suddenly very serious.

"I won't let the reporters eat me, Steve. In fact, I'll be home for dinner. Ciao. Jarvis, faceplate up." Tony removed his foot from the creature's foot – the only part of its body low enough to the ground for him to pose with any dignity – and faced the barrage of journalists. He could see at least ten camera teams. Momentarily, he wished heartily for Pepper...

But Pepper had told him, firmly, that she wasn't there to cover the activities of Iron Man (though she seemed willing enough to give Captain America advice about how to handle the paparazzi.) 

She really shouldn't – it was so much fun watching Steve snark at them without them realising it.

They'd learned to recognise his own snark long ago, but Pepper still chided him about antagonising the press corps. He could handle them as well as she did, but it was a chore he'd rather avoid.

The first questions were easily fielded. No, he had no idea where the beast had come from. He'd been visiting the research facility at Stark Air Specialists when the report had come in of the creature attacking a school bus in the Beacon Hill area – the driver had sensibly put his foot flat on the gas pedal and ignored traffic laws. Iron Man had arrived in time to divert its attention and then kill it. Yes, he had informed the authorities.

Said authorities had been all too easy to contact.

"May O'Hara, Fox News: By what right have Stark Industries appropriated national icon Captain America?"

Tony felt his shoulders tense, though he tried to keep his voice steady. "Gee, and here was I thinking Iron Man was a national icon too. Or maybe an International Icon. But Captain Rogers is on the Avengers payroll, not on the Stark Industries payroll."

"I don't see the difference, Mr Stark. Just who is financing the so-called Avengers payroll?"

"The Maria Stark Foundation."

"Oh, and the rest of the so-called 'Avengers'? Are they funded by this 'charity'? Or are they just some kind of tax dodge?"

"The Maria Stark Foundation accounts are open to the usual inspections," Tony told her. "Yes, the reporter from Reuters?"

"Do you think it was co-incidental that this creature appeared when you were in Seattle?"

"I think it was lucky for the people of Seattle, co-incidence or not. Yes, the gentleman in the pink shirt."

"Jeff Cellini from Huffington Post—"

"HuffPo? _Really_?"

"Yes, sir, really." It was said with an air of long sufferance. "To go back to the Avengers. Is it true that Thor claims to be the actual Norse God of Thund—?"

Suddenly, two voices overrode the question, coming from the helmet speakers, fighting each other for recognition. "Sir, life signs—"

"Tony, up—"

"—from the—"

"—now!"

"—beast—"

Tony was in the air, spurred into action by the order in Steve's Captain America command voice when the supposedly dead creature reared up on its hind legs. A huge paw swiped at him, but he slipped sideways and its claws only sliced air.

"What the hell?" he shouted, though Jarvis and no doubt Steve would hear him even if he whispered. "That fucking thing was dead, as in doornail, not breathing, going _cold_ dead! Whose brains did it eat to become a fucking zombie? It had ceased to be! Expired and gone to meet its maker! A stiff! Bereft of life. Its metabolic processes ought to be history...!"

"Tony, what are you talking about?" Steve's voice held a familiar plaintive note.

He could not resist answering with a teasing reference. "It's a Monty Python monster."

"It is not a dead parrot, sir," said Jarvis, injecting just the right note of surrealism as Tony circled the zombie bear-dog, just out of its reach, distracting it as the reporters and camera-people fled for their lives

This time he was going to make sure the fucking thing stayed dead. After all, he was wearing armour that had taken out Chitauri-turtle-dragons.

Okay, Tony thought grimly, let's see you survive being blown to teeny-tiny pieces.

"Jarvis, give that thing the works."

"As you command, sir."

And the air was full of tiny, repulsor-missiles, the Jericho in all but name and size, swarming like fireflies towards the bear-dog thing which batted at them like a kitten trying to catch butterflies.

The missiles exploded like strings of firecrackers but much, much louder. Even just one would have shattered the creature. As it was, the shock waves flung Iron Man backwards in the middle of a hailstorm of dog-bear flesh mixed with a driving rain of blood.

"Jarvis, where the fuck is SHIELD?"

"Seven minutes away, sir. No, make that four. They have almost doubled their speed."

"Good." Well, it was good that they were close and could take over here, but bad, really bad, that they just happened to be close to the Stark Installation. Even worse if they were here because he was...

Steadying himself on the boot-thrusters, Tony wiped blood from the eye-slit sensors and looked down at the scattered and splattered newspeople with a certain amount of satisfaction.

"Iron Man, report your status."

"I'm fine, Cap, really. Just covered in gunk." And his stomach was hurting as it sometimes did when fear clenched his muscles.

He never used to be afraid. Well, not as Iron Man. But the implications of what had happened today were not something that Iron Man could deal with – that would be all down to Tony Stark.

 

Tony was a lot later than he'd planned getting into the air in the armour. SHIELD had arrived and quarrelled with the police and the army about taking charge of the remains and with him about his methods of dealing with the creature. They'd also hosed him down, for which he was grateful, but they insisted that he be examined by their medics.

"You were caught in the shock wave, Mr Stark. We can't let you fly until the doctors have certified you're fit to pilot the suit."

It was no use protesting that Jarvis could fly him home even if he was unconscious – Jarvis didn't and couldn't have a pilot's licence.

God, but he missed Coulson. He'd always known where he was with Coulson. Admittedly, that had occasionally involved the threat of being tasered, but at least he'd grown to anticipate that.

So he submitted, though with ill grace.

Finally, though, SHIELD released him, and he blasted up as high and fast as the suit could take him.

With vast tracts of the North West US and Canada and what seemed like an infinite amount of the Pacific rotating imperceptibly below him, he hovered on the repuslors and tried to stop himself shaking.

For a long time before the Chitauri invasion, SHIELD had known far too much about both him and Stark Industries. So he had tightened security and tightened it yet again after the invasion. SHIELD had also tightened security – he had believed, at the time, that it had been a result his and Jarvis's hacks – but he had evidence that SHIELD had been leaking classified information in other directions ever since.

For instance, Steve's real identity. Steven Grant Rogers. Who was the original Captain America. 

Washington knew. Whoever had sent in the goons to Stark Tower knew.

And SHIELD had to know it was leaking. Hell, he'd warned Fury himself after the ornithopter attack.

But had become obvious that his own organisation was leaking too. Someone was trying to kill him... someone who knew he would be within easy reach of the eStark store in White Plains on that particular day, someone who knew that he was arriving at Vicstar Field instead of McGuire, and someone, it appeared, had known he would be in Seattle today.

SHIELD had also somehow known all of those things. 

He'd wanted desperately to dismiss it as coincidence, but he couldn't, however hard he tried.

The odds were that someone – and someone known to him personally, one of his trusted inner circle – was leaking information to SHIELD, and someone or several someones in that collection of spies was promptly passing it on, maybe passing it out wholesale.

Little pieces of evidence had kept appearing that worried him even more.

He had checked Jarvis's security again, this time hoping that he would find that elusive back door in the AI's programming (and, damn it, SHIELD had been able to override Jarvis's protocols before) but without much hope. Jarvis already knew many things that SHIELD and the government would love to steal, including the atomic structure of vibranium and the identities he had created for the Black Widow and Hawkeye. Those, as far as he could tell, remained secure.

Finally, unable to escape from the inexorable logic, he had laid what he planned as the first of a series of traps. This morning he'd deliberately limited the number of people who'd known he would be in Seattle to two, and Jarvis.

And here was SHIELD. And here was a threat that would be sure to bring him racing to help. And a monster that refused to die.

For a moment he seriously considered heading south to his old home in Malibu and putting all this behind him.

But that would leave Steve isolated in New York, and almost certainly in danger. And the one thing he was sure of was that Steve wasn't leaking information to SHIELD or anyone else, because Bruce's location was still secret, as were the results of Hank's research, and the repulsor and ARC and Iron Man tech were untouched. Steve hadn't even been unfrozen when SHIELD had first gained access to Stark Industries and the Malibu house, hadn't had any chance to communicate with SHIELD or anyone else on his way to Vicstar Field where Pepper, Happy and Hill had been waiting for them. Pepper, on the other hand, had hired Natalie Rushman, had been on first name terms with Coulson, had known about the Avengers, which might have been something he'd confided to her when he was so sick (but not that the Initiative had been cancelled), had spent most of Coulson's funeral and wake talking to Fury and Hill, had known about every single instance where he had been attacked, had probably leased the Arctic research ship to SHIELD, and had spent far too much time recently trying to get him to come to terms with the government...

No, he had to go back to New York to face her with these facts and suspicions, even if the thought dismayed him.

It took half an hour of blasting across the continent for him to calm down enough to tell Jarvis to "Get me Dr Banner."

"Sir, Captain Rogers and Ms Potts are both trying to contact you." 

"They can both talk to me when I get home." By that time he would have his excuses ready for Steve, and as for Pepper... "Bruce first."

"Yes, sir," Jarvis said huffily. "I'll contact him."

He had been dependent on Pepper for so long, and when he had been dying he had tried to make sure of her future by handing her the company on a plate. Despite the panic in which the decision had been made it had proved to be inspired. She ran the company well and loved running it, loved Stark Industries for its own sake, while he was only interested the company as a means to shape the world, his world, into something better. But with the ridiculous amount of time she spent in the office and he spent in the workshop, not to mention, in her words, his addiction to Iron Man and the Avengers, they hardly saw each other anymore, except in bed. And, God help him, he was sometimes irritated by the way she tried to organise his life. 

Before Afghanistan, she'd been his right hand, smoothing his path as he veered between the playboy and the engineer, forcing him into being the businessman on appropriate occasions. Then, when his world had blown apart, she had become essential to his continued existence. And she was funny and kind and beautiful and intelligent and brave and loyal and in love with him, so she deserved to have everything he could give her, including returning her love.

He'd _needed_ her.

And then he'd needed to know who was feeding information to SHIELD.

"I'd cut the wire." God, how naive had he been?

There was silence for a while, except for the wind rushing past his helmet.

"Hello Tony," Bruce's voice said. "Jan and Hank say, 'Hi' too, and want to know when you and Steve are going to visit again. You ought to see the results of our recent research."

"I've seen the results of your research; big and green and bad tempered. Which is why I called." Quickly he sketched the details of the giant rampaging zombie bear-dog and the traces of green in its coat and gamma radiation in its body.

"They didn't mention that on CNN," was Bruce's response.

"So you were watching. Glad you're keeping up with my awesome adventures – hey, that would make a good title for a comic book, like the ones that used to feature Cap."

Bruce snorted, but there was affection in his voice as he said, "I don't know how he puts up with you."

"Come home and find out."

Bruce didn't even bother to answer that; they'd had this conversation too many times already. He said, instead, "So we know they're still experimenting, probably on the Abomination and who knows what else."

"Do you suppose that was a deliberate attack, or was the giant-green-mutant-zombie-bear-dog on the Hulk-style run?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Stark, and I don't have one. Keep me updated. And say 'Hello' to Steve for me. How's that partnership working out for you both, by the way?"

"It's good," Tony said. "Bye, Bruce."

"Bye, Tony." Then, formally, "Banner out."

"Sir," Jarvis said, "may I remind you—"

"No you may not. I need to think. Give me some loud metal, Jarvis, and I don't want to hear from you unless less there's an immediate threat or Air Traffic Control needs me to re-route."

Jarvis said nothing, though he gave a deep, exasperated sigh, which was quite an achievement for a being with no lungs. Seconds later, the helmet was filled with Iron Maiden.

Maybe he was wrong. It could still be coincidence. He must have further evidence before he acted...

 

Approaching New York, Tony called Jarvis back on line. "Where is everybody, Jarvis?"

"I presume that by 'everybody' you mean Captain Rogers and Ms Potts, who, by the way, has been trying to contact you for the past three hours. Apparently you are due to accompany her to a Charity Gala at the Met, sir."

"I need to see Steve first." Not that he had any intention of going to any Charity Gala. Not tonight.

"Captain Rogers is in the workshop, sir."

"Good."

Pepper wouldn't be there, even if she hadn't already left; she wasn't really comfortable in his workshop, and found Dum-E and U disconcerting companions. Steve, on the other hand had accepted the bots as something only to be expected in the twenty-first century.

Who'd've thought Captain America was a science fiction fan?

Iron Man came in to land using the workshop entrance, allowed the robots to strip away the armour, leaving him in a rumpled lightweight suit that had cost a fortune and would, no doubt, cost almost as much to put back into its original pristine condition. Tony flung the crumpled jacket over U, followed it with his tie and sweat-soaked shirt, grabbed an ancient but clean t-shirt out of a drawer, and headed towards the bright lights and colours that indicated the holographics were in operation.

 

Steve was seated on a stool in the middle of the display, the hologram lights playing over his skin and hair, making him look a little exotic, a little otherworldly. Tony paused, allowing himself a not-exactly-innocent moment of appreciation, then moved forward into the circle.

"Hi." Tony slid an arm round Steve's shoulders and leaned against him so that he shared his view of the displays; there was a map of the North American continent overhead, covered in tiny coloured lights, and, surrounding it, satellite views of unidentifiable forest and desert and mountains, Facebook pages, rows of tweets, muddy videos, blurred photographs, and messily designed digital newspages.

"Hi yourself." Steve gave him a sideways grin, and shifted slightly on the stool so Tony had a better view, incidentally taking more of his weight. It still gave Tony a small thrill to know that he wouldn't be shoved aside, hadn't been since that first horrible day when he had been determined to prove his father wrong about Captain America (because his father had never been right about anything important) and, paradoxically, to impress the World War II superhero; his attempt at both failing spectacularly. 

Until they'd learned trust and respect in the wrecked innards of a helicarrier engine, and then sympathy in shared grief for a friend. In that latter intimacy, he had become 'Tony' to Cap...

"You look tired," Steve said now. "I expected you earlier. Why didn't you call in?"

"I needed to think."

"And talk to Bruce," Steve said.

"Jarvis, what did I tell you about tattling to Steve behind my back? Oh, Bruce said 'Hello' by the way, and wants to know why you put up with me."

"I'll tell him when I find out myself." Then he added, more gently, "I take it he's not coming back."

Tony shook his head, unwilling to let his disappointment show. "I'm beginning to suspect something's going on there – probably has a threesome going with Hank and Jan. Unless they've imported a load of dancing girls."

"In Oklahoma?"

"These farm girls... 'I'm just a girl who cain't say no...'" he sang off-key.

"I'm aware you are, Tony. So how come the genius billionaire superhero just has a couple of robots and an AI butler in his workshop?"

"And you," Tony retorted, because, well, Steve was as easy on the eye as any lab assistant – or, for that matter, model or actor – he'd ever met. "Come on, human perfection, what have you and my sassy AI been conspiring about?"

Steve waved a hand at the holograms. "Jarvis and I have been analysing all the sightings of what could have been your creature."

Tony straightened. "You got something?"

Steve sighed. "When did everyone get so gullible, Tony?"

Tony chuckled. "I take it you've run up against the public's willingness to believe ... well, anything that's illogical and impossible because you can't trust experts or the government – well possibly they may be right about that – and put it on the internet as truth. Nothing on the internet is to be believed by the way, unless I put it there and even then if it's on Facebook or Wikipedia I'm probably lying..."

Steve ignored this persiflage. "If these reports are to be believed the whole continent is swarming with unknown beasts. I'm surprised you don't have one as a pet."

"There _has_ been an increase in cryptozoological sightings in the past three months," Jarvis reported blandly. "I have eliminated the obvious frauds and am attempting to track any possible movements of sighting towards Seattle. Steve is checking the credibility of those reports on which I cannot make a human judgment call." 

Since when had Jarvis started calling Steve 'Steve'? As far as Tony knew he'd never done that with any other human.

"He's just flattering me," Steve said. "Meanwhile, hadn't you better shower and change? You're extremely late already and Pepper is going to kill you."

"Ms Potts left the building two hours ago," Jarvis informed them.

"Plotting vengeance," Steve added.

Which was probably true, but all he felt was relief that he could stay here with Steve and his bots. Sometimes he was amazed that Pepper's clothes were still in his suite in the tower, though, to be honest, she was no longer in his bed as often as she used to be, especially when he was. Well, he certainly couldn't face her tonight. "In that case, I'm going to nap down here while Jarvis orders us up some pizza. The usual for me, Jarvis. Steve?" 

"I may try something new. Jarvis, will you put up a menu for me?"

"At once, Steve."

"Wake me when the pizza arrives," Tony said, around a yawn. "And brew up some coffee. I suspect this is going to be an all-nighter."

 

After a while, Steve looked up to eye the camera. He could not bring himself to break the habit of thinking that Jarvis was lurking behind it. Besides, he always liked to look into the face of whoever he was talking to and this was the nearest he could get with the AI.

"Jarvis, is Tony asleep?"

"Yes, sir. On the couch. DUM-E is about to try to cover him."

"Don't let him. He'll only wake him. I'll do it in a moment. Meanwhile, I think we'll hold on the pizza. Tony needs sleep more than food. I've never seen him look so tired."

"Indeed, Steve, you have not. Though it was far worse when he was dying of palladium poisoning. I take it you do not require pizza."

"No. I'll call for something a little healthier from the kitchens." It had been a surprise to Steve that the excellent food that arrived on request turned out to be available twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week in the Tower's staff restaurants, at so heavily subsidised a price that many staff ate three meals a day there. SI employees were not only well paid, but had the highest quality benefits which, according to Tony, was simply good business practice, and, according to Pepper, kept their turnover rate at an industry low.

It was, Steve had come to realise, typical of the contradictions that made up Tony Stark. The face SHIELD had shown him via their films and profiles – the face Tony himself had thrust at him in Stuttgart, the helicarrier and the journey between – had some elements of truth but was plainly designed to serve as a distraction. Look behind it, look at the details of his life and his company and you got a very different picture.

They'd order pizza when Tony was awake to eat it; if he still needed one of his favourite comfort foods at that point.

He found Tony sprawled face down on the decaying leather couch shoved against a wall in the darkest corner of the workshop. It was the only piece of furniture that wasn't both new and pristine that Steve had seen anywhere in the Tower. DUM-E was standing – crouching – parked – whatever – beside it, waving an equally threadbare comforter in its mechanical hand.

There was also an empty glass on the floor beside the couch, and a half-empty bottle besides it. Steve took a look at the label and winced. Even he knew what the words '40 year old Single Cask Malt Whisky' signified and that it was really, really too good to be used as an anaesthetic.

Carefully, he shifted Tony onto his side, put a cushion under his head and eased his shoes off his feet, then took the comforter from DUM-E and tucked it around him.

It was a process familiar enough from only months – seventy years to everyone else – ago, caring for soldiers far more exhausted than he could ever be since the serum. Only the setting and personnel were different.

His own emotions, though... was the only reason they were more intense that Tony had become his emotional lifeline in this strange cold world of the future?

Think about something else. What had happened to upset Tony today? Was it his conversation with Bruce? Or perhaps it was letting Pepper down. Not that that wasn't an everyday occurrence.

She seemed resigned to it.

In her place, he didn't think he could have been.

 

Back at the computer station, he asked Jarvis to pipe white noise around Tony, and went back to their work on the reports of 'monster' sightings going back over ten years. Even isolating the original sightings of the Hulk was not as easy as it should have been, with every imagination in the US apparently running riot and reporting it on the internet.

"This would," Jarvis said, "be so much easier if SHIELD hadn't upgraded the security on their computer databases. I cannot even see them now. It is if they have been switched off."

And how, Steve wondered, were they managing to do that? Unless, of course, they had actually switched them off. As he understood it, the whole world ran on computers and Jarvis was probably the most advanced computer program on Earth. There was nothing better, according to Tony, for cracking a computer program than a more advanced and intelligent computer program. "How about the Pentagon's?"

"I'm working on it..." There was silence for a while as Steve dismissed report after report. Lights were going out and changing colour on the map in patterns that he hoped would, eventually, be significant.

"Steve," Jarvis said, "Dr Banner is trying to contact Mr Stark via the secure link."

"Put him through here, Jarvis." Steve sat back and waited for Bruce's familiar face to appear.

When it did, the other man's eyebrows were up.

"Hi, Bruce," Steve greeted. "Tony's asleep. Is it urgent enough to wake him?"

"No, no, no. Him sleeping at this time of night is so exceptional we need to cherish it. It just means this call will be twenty minutes shorter."

Steve chuckled. "It means that I won't understand most of what you say."

"In this case, you will. No science-babble this time, Steve. Betty – my fellow researcher into gamma rays – emailed Jan, or, rather, she emailed Jarvis, who she thinks is a flesh and blood person, for Jan's dropbox. Don't look at me like that – Tony told her Jarvis was head of security for Stark Industries."

"He is," Steve said.

Bruce blinked at him. "I might have known. Jarvis is his alter ego. Anyhow, Betty isn't working in gamma radiation any more, but she's knows most of the people who've worked in the field and when she saw what happened out in Seattle she tried to alert them. She hasn't been able to contact any of them."

"Do you think she's in danger?" Steve asked sharply. "We could ship her out to join you. I know Tony's suggested it before..."

"Not if her father's still in charge of the project."

"You think General Ross is involved?"

Bruce considered the suggestion with his usual gravity. "Yes," he said at last, "I rather think I do. Also, I'm worried about the fact that Tony was in Seattle when that creature appeared there."

"So am I," Steve said. "And that it appeared out of nowhere in a city with water on two sides and a major canal cutting through the isthmus. The beast must have crossed a dozen major highways without being spotted. Jarvis and I have been trying to track where it might have come from, but, while the Internet is full of monster sightings, there are none recently in within three hundred miles of Seattle that could have been this one."

"I take it you're still looking."

"We're still looking, and Jarvis is also looking from the other end, trying to track the state of Ross's project or its spinoffs."

"Let me know what you find out?"

"You bet."

"And it might be an idea to call in Clint and Natasha, if you can reach them."

Steve shook his head. "We've heard nothing from them since they alerted us about the legal threats from the government and we know better than to try to look for them in DC. That was our first contact since the Avengers split. Well, Tony thinks they were probably at Coulson's funeral. On the other hand, Pepper Potts is equally sure they weren't, and it would have been a risk."

"Ah yes. The funeral. The one to which I wasn't invited, apparently. You weren't there either?"

"No."

"But Tony was."

"'I was off his radar."

Bruce looked as if he was going to comment on that, then leaned forward, plainly about to switch off the link. Suddenly, he paused. "Steve, who knew that Tony would be in Seattle yesterday?"

"Tony did. I did. Jarvis and Pepper did. The guys at the plant Tony went over to meet—"

"They didn't know until I arrived there," Tony's voice said from behind him. Steve looked round in time to see him shrug. "Just another coincidence."

He was lying. Steve could tell he was lying. But to him and Bruce? Why?

"Well," Bruce said, in such dry tones that Steve knew he had also detected the falsehood, "let's hope no one coincidentally finds this place. I don't want to call out the Other Guy." His face vanished from the air, leaving his voice lingering like the Cheshire Cat's grin.

Tony looked sternly at Steve. "I take it there isn't pizza?"

"I was hoping you'd sleep for a while longer."

"Sleep," said Tony, "is for the weak. I need a drink. And pizza and coffee. Jarvis!"

"At once, sir."

"And as for you, Steven, you do not take over Coulson's supernanny role. You don't have the gravitas, or a mean enough streak. Nor am I about to let you get your hands on a taser."

Watching a muttering Tony locate the bottle of Scotch and pour himself a large helping, Steve was horrified to discover that he not only wanted to snatch the drink from his hands, but to take him in his arms and kiss the need for it away. 

It wasn't by any means a new feeling but, despite all his efforts to dismiss it, it was growing stronger by the day.

Before the ice, he'd managed to banish this ... desire ... for some men to the very back of his mind. Before the serum, he could not imagine approaching a man any more than he had been able to approach a woman, and after it there had been Peggy...

Bisexual, they called it now. Back before the war, he hadn't been able to put a name to it. All he had known was that to act would have been to dishonour all the Christian morals his mother had tried to teach him.

Nowadays, much as various churches railed against it, it was acceptable, even in the Army. Against God's law? Tony didn't believe in God and Steve, who did, wasn't sure that any religious leader today knew what God's law was, or even whether he had laid down any law at all. SHIELD's chaplain had been a witch, for pity's sake, who had smiled benevolently and told him that, "An' you harm no one, do what you will."

Harm no-one. But there was Pepper... 

"Steve, what was it you said about Pepper?"

Steve jumped. "What? I mean, what, exactly?" He couldn't remember venturing an opinion about Pepper Potts. In fact he was pretty sure he wouldn't dare; his feelings were too conflicted, too influenced by his feelings for Tony...

"Something about Coulson's funeral. About Clint and Natasha not being there."

Was that all? "Yeah. We were talking about how I wanted to be there, and how your conversation with Natasha and Clint, as well as with me, was going to be uncomfortable."

"Natasha and Clint. Are you sure that was the phrase she used? Come on, I know how good your memory is now."

"Give me a moment," Steve said. The serum had done something to his memory, but it wasn't as if he could recall everything that had ever happened to him without effort. He concentrated, remembering. That conversation had taken place in the kitchen in the penthouse. Pepper had been cooking... "We were talking, about you, among other things. She said, 'He isn't willing to let go of you all anymore than he's willing to let go of Iron Man. What's more he's never liked SHIELD or Director Fury; keeping you, Natasha and Clint Barton off SHIELD's payroll is another way of thumbing his nose at both."

For some reason it appeared that this was not welcome news. Tony looked dismayed. "Do you also remember using Hawkeye's real name to Pepper?" he demanded.

"No. I know better than that. Besides, that was only the second conversation I had with her."

"Is there anything else?"

Steve nodded. "I said I would have liked to have been there, and she said, 'Which is why Tony made no attempt to let you – or anyone else – know. I have no doubt that his conversations with Natasha and Agent Barton are going to be uncomfortable.' Though I'm pretty sure she was going to use another name before she said 'Natasha'."

"So she definitely knew Hawkeye's real name. And Natasha's – Pepper originally knew her as Natalie Rushman... or did she? I'm beginning to wonder. Natasha might have told Pepper her real name, as might Coulson, but there would have to have been a good reason. Coulson hardly told me anything, and SHIELD was trying to control both me and the armour from the beginning. But I can't see either of them having any reason to mention Hawkeye, let alone his real name. I was careful not to do so. Jarvis? I don't suppose by any chance you still have a recording of Steve's conversation with Pepper to confirm that exact wording?"

"I am under instruction not to record any conversations in the penthouse or the Avengers floors unless you give me specific instructions, sir."

"Consider that rescinded."

Steve's eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing.

"Yes, sir." Though Jarvis hadn't any eyebrows to raise, Steve rather thought that if he had, he would have done so too.

"And have you ever identified either the Black Widow or Hawkeye, under their real names, to Pepper, or anyone else?"

"You gave me my instructions on that matter yourself, sir."

"So how did she know?" Tony demanded of the room in general. "Who would tell her? And why? 

"Fury? Hill?" Steve suggested.

"I repeat: why?"

"Does it matter?"

Tony's expression was forbidding. "Perhaps. Perhaps. Now, coffee and pizza – and Jarvis, I'll need to arrange a meeting with Nick Fury."

Steve reached for his partner's arm, then hesitated with his fingers hovering above it as he saw the pain on the other man's face. "Tony? What's wrong?"

"It's all right, Steve. Or it will be." His smile was plainly forced. "I will explain, but not now. Not until I'm certain. Ja—"

But Jarvis was already speaking. "Reception is calling you, sir."

Tony made an annoyed, dismissive motion with one hand. "Just because Pepper isn't here doesn't mean—"

A different voice interrupted. "Mr Stark, I have the UN Ambassadors from Kenya and Tanganyika in reception, together with their entourages. They are insisting on speaking to you tonight..."

The voice did not exactly add, "Rescue me, sir," but the plea was there in the rising pitch and volume.

"Okay. Hold on a moment. Jarvis, are they for real?"

"Their credentials appear to be legitimate. I have accessed the UN, diplomatic press and FBI computers and they confirm the identities."

"O-kay. Reception, send them up to the Penthouse."

"Sir," Jarvis interposed quickly. "The entourage consists of a number of bodyguards. I suggest..."

"Yes, yes. Just the ambassadors. No bodyguards. If they don't trust me they can sit down there until Pepper gets back." Tony looked wildly about him, spotted a reasonably clean jacket on a hanger, and grabbed it. "Okay, Steve, let's find out why East Africa is descending on us."

 

As Tony stepped forward to greet the pair of ambassadors he deliberately donned his public persona instead of the tux he wasn't wearing. Unfortunately, his always wayward imagination immediately dubbed his visitors 'Laurel and Hardy'. One was tall enough to make Thor look, if not small, at least average, but straight and lean, wearing a tuxedo of surpassing quality, while the other was short and rotund and wore white robes and an embroidered cap. 

Determining to keep a firm hold on his tongue, Tony held out his hand and said, "I'm Tony Stark. Welcome to my tower. What can I do for you?"

Laurel and Hardly looked at each other then, somewhat suspiciously, beyond Tony, to where Steve was leaning with his back against the bar arms folded.

Tony said, "My witness. You have each other, I have Captain Rogers." 

"So we are not under surveillance?"

"Should we be?" Tony's expression was innocence itself. "It can be arranged. But you have my word that no one who isn't here right now can hear us."

Laurel took Tony's hand and shook it firmly. " _Jambo_. Thank you for seeing us, Mr Stark. I am Ambassador Joseph Cheyo, Permanent Representative to the United Nations from the Republic of Tanganyika, and this is my UN colleague His Excellency Thabiti Ndungu from the Republic of Kenya."

"Good evening, Mr Stark." Hardy – Ambassador Ndungu – shook hands briefly. He hesitated for a moment, looking towards Steve as if he was thinking about offering his hand to him. Steve's arms remained folded and his expression forbidding. Ndungu thought better of it.

"May I offer you gentleman anything?" Tony asked. "Drinks. Coffee, maybe?"

"No, thank you, Mr Stark. I'm afraid that this cannot be considered a social call," Cheyo said, a little gruffly.

"We intended to speak to you at tonight's gala," Ndungu added. "When we could not locate you, the delightful Ms Virginia Potts told us you would be here tonight, so we sought you here – and are grateful that you agreed to see us."

Tony wandered over to the bar and poured himself a cognac. "This is becoming intriguing."

"You must understand," Cheyo said, "that we are not here on our own initiative and," – his face clouded suddenly – "we are not used to being treated as messenger boys. It is not... dignified."

"Though we are slightly more used to representing another... I hesitate to say government... on occasion." 

Tony's heart had started to beat more quickly. "Oooh. Let me guess, let me guess. Wakanda?

"You have heard of Wakanda?" Cheyo sounded astonished.

Tony nodded. "Very recently. The Wakandans have – I was going to say 'been in contact' – but it was more of an interrogation, and they have also tried to compromise my computer systems. Being able to put a name to them is more recent."

"Until I joined the diplomatic service," Ndungu said, with an air of confiding something shameful, "I believed Wakanda to be nothing more than legend, something to give a frisson as you listened to a storyteller round the fire. I was wrong. Wakanda is a real place, a real society. It is why the countries of East Africa threw off the German and British yokes so easily. It is why we are more advanced technologically than other countries in Africa." His mouth twisted. "A gift, apparently, from Wakanda, which is, I am told, more technically advanced than any country in the world, even the one in which we stand. It is not a gift they share very often."

"They feed us little pieces of technology, in return for our silence and our assistance in dealing with the rest of the world," Chayo said. "The reason our governments have refused to negotiate with your representatives to bring us your new technologies is because they have been forbidden to do so by Wakanda.

"However, we are now here to extend an invitation to you to travel to Wakanda for negotiations concerning the supply of vibranium."

"It is not an invitation that has ever been extended to members of our governments," Ndungu added dryly.

Tony's heart was now thundering, but he kept his face and voice casual. "I'll think about it."

"I must explain that 'time to think' is a luxury you do not have. My profound apologies, but we have to have your decision tonight. An aircraft is waiting for you right now at Kennedy Airport."

"And you must go unarmed," Chayo added. "You are allowed your bodyguard, a Mr Hogan, I understand from Ms Potts, but he also must not carry weapons."

"No." Steve's voice cut into the conversation. Everyone turned to stare at him as he drew himself to his full height. "Hogan is primarily a chauffeur, and nowadays he guards Ms Potts. Iron Man is my teammate and my partner. Tony Stark is my boss and pays my salary as his bodyguard." Steve's expression was stern, and the glint in his eye and the tilt of his head dared Tony to contradict him.

To be honest, Tony didn't want to. There wasn't anyone he'd rather share this adventure with than Steve and he needed to talk to these Wakandans. The prospect of natural vibranium was mouthwatering. He wasn't afraid; the Wakandans had had him at their mercy and done nothing but question him. And this gave him the ideal excuse to put off his confrontation with Pepper. As for her... "I need to leave messages for Ms Potts and for my legal department. You may watch over my shoulder while I write the emails. Rogers, get our go-bags and passports from the secure store. No doubt one of our two 'messengers' will want to watch you."

"Thank you," Chayo said quietly as Ndungu followed Steve. Only when they had disappeared did he add, "You should be safe enough, for Wakanda is, according to all reports, highly civilised, save in its adherence to a religion older than either Christianity or Islam. But two of my staff have been suddenly recalled – the ones I have long suspected of being from Wakanda. The political situation there may not be entirely stable. Be wary."

Tony nodded. "I already am."

 

As the jet rose into the yellow and grey of the New York dawn sky, Tony unbuckled his seat belt and leaned over Steve, right into his personal space, and whispered, "Bodyguard, eh?" into his ear.

"Effectively," Steve replied, equally quietly, but showing no sign of flinching. "I wasn't going to let you go in alone – and Happy's a great guy, but he wouldn't be any help to you if something goes wrong."

"We've no weapons," Tony said. "No shield. Not that I'd've risked it in a place that produced vibranium."

"No armour either."

"I think we're safe enough. I've exchanged pleasantries over the internet with these Wakandans, and I don't think I've done anything to offend them. They're also a source of naturally occurring vibranium. Which they supplied to my Dad. I think they're on the side of the angels. Meanwhile, I'm gonna get some sleep. I suggest you do the same. Tomorrow is going to be interesting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though the MCU's geography and history is close to our own, they are not identical.


	13. Mouth of the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony's reception in Wakanda is not precisely what he expected.

It was still night as they came in to land, somewhere, Tony estimated, near the equator in eastern Africa, perhaps not all that far from the Indian Ocean. No lights were visible through the windows except the white and yellow dots marking a single runway. The lighting was sophisticated but, despite the surprising length of the runway, the airport wasn't large, to judge by the lack of taxi area lighting.

Of course, if he'd had his StarkPhone he could have pinpointed their exact location, but what little electronic equipment they had had with them had been – very politely – confiscated before they boarded the plane.

He did not remark on these facts to Steve, primarily because he suspected their conversations were being recorded. Steve seemed to have the same suspicion because he, also, had kept the conversation to trivialities.

The flight attendants, who were all male, possibly because Tony's reputation had preceded him, had not answered anything more complicated than questions about what wines were stocked. Queries about the time and place they expected to land had produced nothing but a smile and a headshake.

The food and the flight entertainment could not be faulted, though Tony silently bemoaned the lack of stripper poles – silently because he still hoped that Steve had not yet discovered true function of the 'Stark Poles' on his private jet. They had a wide choice of movies and TV programmes and e-books. The seats reclined into beds and sheets and pillows were quickly provided.

Tony had slept for nearly ten hours at the start of the flight and was now more alert than either of them had any right to expect. It could not be far from sunrise here, some seven hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time

He was beginning to regret his precipitate decision to confront Wakanda on its own ground, but Steve's solid presence beside him was a comfort. That they were both unarmed bothered him, though, and he hated being out of touch with Jarvis even more.

 

The landing was as smooth as any Tony had experienced and they disembarked into a hot pre-dawn which was likely, he thought gloomily, to get much hotter.

The stars were still bright on what was presumably the western horizon but there was already a touch of light behind the high hills to the east – and was that a higher, isolated peak? He blinked, and there were only stars.

Behind them, noise of the jet engines died, leaving the air full of unidentified primal noises.

Steve had that stoic look on his face that Tony had come to realise covered nervousness. It probably put the fear of God into everyone else, given his height, s musculature and breadth of shoulder. Currently he was scanning the area while tapping the sunglasses he would probably need within the hour on the palm of his hand. He nodded slightly at Tony and inclined his head towards two sets of headlights coming towards them. His stance had shifted, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to move fast. Tony fingered the bracelet of the only-partly-a-watch on his left wrist, which, despite a lack of contact with Jarvis, could summon the armour from New York to close about him. Unfortunately, even if he activated it right now it would take hours to get here.

The SUVs slowed as they approached and came to a halt an arm's length away. The side door of the leading car slid open, and a very tall – even taller than Steve – African man dressed in black, white and amber striped robes stepped out. He bowed slightly, then offered his hand to Tony. "Welcome to Wakanda, Mr Stark." His grip was firm. "I am Trade Minister N'kendi."

"Good to meet you," Tony said, gripping back, wondering, as he did so, why Wakanda would need a trade minister. "This is my assistant and bodyguard, Mr Rogers."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Rogers." N'kendi actually sounded sincere as he shook Steve's hand.

Two more men had emerged from the SUV. Both were wearing khaki shirts and knee-length shorts that were plainly a uniform. They turned out to be representatives of Wakandan Customs and Immigration. 

– though why would isolationist Wakanda have those either?—

Still, their passports and bags were given cursory examination, and then everyone climbed, with some relief, into the air-conditioned comfort of the SUV. 

As the vehicles left the tarmac and took a paved road across flat grasslands dotted with acacia trees ghostly against the lightening sky, N'kendi said, "The journey will take about an hour. If you wish to discuss anything with me I will be glad to help; our monarch is most ... exacting ... in his demands and insists that all details are correct."

"I assure you we are well prepared," Tony responded, filing away the 'monarch' for future reference.

Steve leaned in close. "Luckily," he whispered, "considering considering your usual response to authority."

The brush of his shoulder and the warmth of his breath forced Tony to clasp his hands around his knees and think desperately of Pepper – but that took his thoughts into dark areas he did not want to visit. Damn it, he'd gone through this with Rhodey so long ago and come out the other side – and that was a place he did not want to visit either, thank you very much.

With difficulty, he focused his attention back on what he could see of the road ahead. Which ended abruptly in a darkness rising up into the sky. The headlights glittered on a wall of vegetation. Tony and Steve both flinched when the SUV did not turn aside where the road did but roared onwards into the rampaging jungle... and continued to travel smoothly down a well-paved road. To the south-east, the rising sun illuminated the slopes of mountains which, damn it, hadn't been there before. In the dimness, Tony could now see graceful trees and ferns dripping over the edges of the road. Jarvis would know about this woodland – jungle? –; what it was called, what trees grew here, what animals roamed its depths, and the traditional uses of its plants. But, even if he still had his phone or tablet, the chances of wireless reception here were, to put it mildly, slim.

 

Eventually, the SUV swung off the main highway, ferns swishing aside under its tires, and then they were travelling down a single-track road, branches sweeping the roof.

Tony felt Steve tense at his side, one hand snaking out to the doors, presumably checking their escape route – but Tony, who had glanced at the doors only seconds before, knew that the locks, if activated, could not be opened by passengers.

Childproof, or something worse?

"Do not be alarmed, gentlemen," N'kendi said. "The highway skirts the borders of the lands of the White Gorilla tribe; this will take us directly to royal village."

Tony wasn't sure he believed him anymore, but a car is a weapon in itself and a SUV more so. It wouldn't help them to crash in the middle of what appeared to be a jungle. An African jungle. Probably with resident big cats. Maybe elephants. Or bears? Did Africa have bears? Where the hell was Jarvis when he needed him?

Ahead of them, the track ran through a gate in a high thorn fence and on into a large clearing, filled with a village of circular mud huts thatched with grass. Except that the walls were not mud but some material that glowed warm gold in the rising sun and the thatch _glittered_.

He'd underestimated the scale, too. The 'huts' were large, and clustered into linked groups of five or six. Ahead lay an inner compound, also surrounded by a barricade, but one apparently made from the same yellow substance as the hut walls. The SUVs stopped before high wooden gates with inlaid from top to bottom with ivory and bronze. Squinting against the reflected light, Tony could make out scenes depicting combat between men and ... gorillas? There were high lookout platforms on either side, manned by what appeared to be ceremonial warriors armed only with bows and spears.

"The government compound," N'kendi said, as more of those ceremonial warriors paced towards the SUV. They were wearing what looked like a form of lightweight armour, but Tony could see only edged weapons. None of the warriors carried anything that looked like a modern projectile weapon.

Something wasn't right here. The mixture of outdated fortification and ancient weapons did not square with the airfield, roads and SUVs. Those spears and arrows must be more than they seemed – unless they were a diversion, camouflage – and he would bet that that the thorn fence around the outer compound wasn't thorn at all but some unidentifiable alloy masquerading as thorn.

Why should hidden Wakanda need such fortifications?

Tony didn't like the possible answers.

N'kendi lowered the nearest window, stuck his head out of it and spoke to the warriors in a language that Tony did not understand. Then he said something in the same language to the driver and the doors of the SUV slid open. "They need to check over the vehicle," he continued, in English. "We will enter the palace compound on foot. There is breakfast waiting for you."

Tony exchanged an uneasy glance with Steve, whose mouth was set in a grim line. N'kendi exited the SUV first and led the way forward as the gates swung open. Beyond was a complex of low buildings, made from the same material as the village huts. Every instinct told Tony that they were being watched. With his luck, by a sniper. He noticed that Steve had moved to shield his back as what might or might not be an honour guard of the armoured warriors fell into position alongside them.

He comforted himself with the hope of coffee, particularly if it was the wonderfully rich coffee grown in nearby Kenya or a local equivalent. As they crossed open ground and climbed the steps past guardian carvings of leaping leopards, he sniffed hopefully. There were many smells, mostly unfamiliar, and none of them suggested coffee, not even when they passed through the eaves-high bronze doors.

Inside, it was cool and dim, save where the sunlight streamed in through the open doors, illuminating rough-surfaced walls hung with rugs, weapons and animal skins. 

Somehow it didn't feel like a palace... or, if it was, it was the palace of general.

A fire smouldered in a pit in the centre of the room, surrounded by statues of some kind of sleeping animal. Then one of the warriors clapped his hands, and those statues leaped to their feet, revealing themselves to be dogs, bigger than mastiffs, but lithe and powerful, and seeming night black in the room's dimness.

They were silent as they surged about the warrior, following him out of the doors which closed as silently behind him, cutting off the sunlight, though the room was little darker. For the life of him, Tony could not figure out where the light was coming from.

Something rose in the shadows and padded into the light. For an instant, Tony thought it was another dog, even larger than the others, but the firelight gleamed red on white, not black. 

Facing them was a large man in what seemed to be some form of flexible armour, all white, with a long-nosed full-face mask below an eared cowl. Two short swords were thrust into his weapons belt but, for the first time, Tony saw an unmistakeable gun butt protruding from a holster, though the weapon itself was one he did not recognise. He might have been impressive but for the massive curves of the shoulder pads – though they might also be armour – and a cape hanging to his knees behind him.

N'kendi bowed low and spoke quickly in that language that was becoming familiar if not any more understandable.

The man in white spoke two words, and N'kendi, to put it bluntly, fled.

Steve stepped forward, but Tony put out a hand to stop him. "That wasn't polite. And I have to tell you, pal, I know only one man who can pull off the caped-crusader look, and you aren't him."

The white clad man nodded once, as if Tony's words confirmed something. "The artificer," he said, his voice surprisingly soft and, irritatingly, not in the least annoyed. "And you," he turned his eyes to Steve, "are not Horace Hogan. You are the Captain. Good."

"You may change that opinion," Steve said.

"Unlikely. Hogan's value would be simply in controlling Stark. You have a value of your own— don't—" The gun was suddenly in his hand. "I know you are fast, Captain, but so am I – very fast." 

"Steve," Tony said, in warning, suddenly afraid of learning what that strange gun could do. He looked levelly at the Wakandan. "Who are you, masked man? Is this even Wakanda? My previous contacts were far more polite, even when hacking my computers or questioning me in dubious circumstances."

"You were not dealing with me, then. I am the White Wolf, leader of the Hatut Zeraze and am charged with protecting the people and traditions of Wakanda from threats both without and within. You are such a threat."

"Oh, come _on—_

The gun whined. Tony flung himself aside, but something invisible caught him in vibrations that threatened to shake him apart. The last thing he saw was Steve charging towards the self-styled White Wolf. Then the shaking threw him into the dark.

 

Steve lay on the tiled floor, one cheek brushing against the roughness of a rug of woven reeds. Somehow, he was still hanging onto consciousness, though his head felt as if it was going to split apart, and none of his limbs would obey him. But he could not let go, not now...

Footsteps approached, loud enough to be made by boots worn by someone heavy. Something metallic poked into his shoulder.

Then a voice – he thought it was White Wolf's – barked what was unmistakably an order in an unknown language.

Hands moved swiftly over his body, checking his pockets and more intimate places.

This wasn't, in itself, a worry for Steve, who was carrying nothing except his (not entirely legal) passport, cash, and a handkerchief. But if they were searching Tony...

He forced his eyes open in time to see a Wakandan warrior remove the-watch-that-could-summon the- armour from Tony's wrist and pass it to the White Wolf, who examined it in a way that suggested to Steve that he knew exactly what he was holding.

Meanwhile, the warrior ran some sort of wand above Tony's body, watching the way it changed colour. Then he shoved it into his belt and reached towards Tony's shirt buttons.

"No!" Steve croaked.

White Wolf snapped a single word which stopped the warrior with his hand hovering over the light in Tony's chest. "You're awake. Interesting," he said, in English, and Steve wished desperately that he could see his face behind that mask, to judge his intent.

Gasping in a deeper breath, Steve forced his vocal cords to work. "Don't... You'll kill him..."

"So what is this device?"

"Electro-magnet. Keeps... shrapnel in... his chest... from reaching his heart. If you want to kill him... us... at least... do it cleanly." Steve was pretty sure they didn't actually want them dead – at least not yet. Otherwise they would probably never have reached Wakanda alive.

But what had Tony been thinking of, to come to here with the arc reactor in his chest? After telling Steve to leave the shield behind...

"It may not be that simple," White Wolf said, as he raised the gun and fired again.

 

Steve woke to dimness, and to pain that pounded through his head and jaw. Since the serum, he had almost forgotten what toothache was like, but now he was being forcefully and unpleasantly reminded. Groaning, he forced himself to sit up and take notice of his surroundings.

There were two light sources. One was too far away to even think about investigating right now. The other, though... the other was the blue-white light of the arc reactor.

Steve scrabbled on hands and knees over to Tony's side. His skin was cool under Steve's fingers but not cold.

Oh, thank you, God, not cold.

Once he located the pulse in Tony's neck and found it strong and steady, he flopped down beside him, listening to the almost-inaudible hum of the arc reactor and the sound of Tony's breathing as his own steadied.

Damn it, he thought he'd gotten this panic at seeing Tony in deadly danger under control. At least there had been no one present to see, least of all Tony himself.

It was all right. Tony was still alive. He wasn't alone again.

 

The first thing Tony was aware of was pain. His head was pounding, in what, if it was a hangover, was the worst he had experienced in years. Whatever he had been drinking, it was powerful enough to make him think of giving up booze for good...

Only the last thing he could remember wasn't a glass of something alcoholic, but a masked man in white.

"Steady." It was Steve's voice, full of relief. "Take it slow, Tony."

Tony opened his eyes just enough to see Steve's face limned in the light of the arc reactor. It took far too long to work out that he was lying on the floor with his head in the other man's lap.

Which was comfortable, though surprising, considering the last thing he had seen was Steve falling...

Tony sat up abruptly, pain lancing through his head, and throwing constricting bands around his chest. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

His hand went to mask the glow of the arc reactor, wondering, as he did so, why it was uncovered.

It was only then that he realised that Steve's arm had gone round him in support. "They know about the electro-magnet in your chest," he said, close to Tony's ear, and the phrasing was a warning. "I had to tell them what it was for – they were going to remove it. They thought it was a weapon."

Tony shuddered. How could he have come to Wakanda with a piece of vibranium in his chest and a working arc reactor available for the taking? It wasn't that he had forgotten about it, but now the technology that was so much a part of him was on the verge of going global he had tended to discount its value to others – and the dangers it posed to himself.

"This is all my fault," he said bitterly. "I thought I had an agreement with these people – plainly, I was wrong."

"So were the ambassadors. I don't think they were lying to us," Steve said.

Tony snorted. "They knew less than I did." His eyes narrowed as he looked sharply at Steve. "Did they interrogate you?"

"No, but they took your watch."

Fuck and fuck again. And he hadn't noticed. Which meant that even if Jarvis should deploy the armour – and he had no reason to do so without a signal from Tony or until three days had passed without contact – it wouldn't be able to find him. He should have called the armour at the border while he'd had the chance... 

None of which meant he was helpless – he hoped.

But it was strange that they hadn't interrogated either of them, given that they had a very effective truth drug. If they wanted the arc reactor or the armour tech that was the swiftest way to get it.

So.

"They aren't after my tech," Tony said. "Or information about... well, anything in particular. Which is damned insulting."

That, as he had intended, made Steve grin, if fleetingly. 

"So," Tony continued, looking about him with distaste. "Where are we?"

"Still somewhere in Wakanda, probably. It's a round room about fifteen feet across. I can't touch the ceiling or find a door. Or any furniture. "

"An oubliette," Tony said grimly. "That light over there...?"

"Sort of a bathroom. Contains what a British sergeant I used to know referred to as 'the shit facilities.'"

"Such a mouth on Captain America," Tony complained. "Still, if there's a sewer there's way out – though we don't have a geologist's hammer or a poster of Rita Hayworth."

"Why would we—? No, never mind. It's an earth closet, Tony. No sewer."

"So I guess we're stuck. Might as well enjoy ourselves while we're here." It wasn't much warning, but Tony knew how quick Steve was at picking up on the most oblique of cues, so he was confident as he reached out a hand, hooked his arm around Steve's neck and pulled him into the sort of embrace that could have only one purpose.

Steve did not resist, so presumably had, indeed, taken the hint.

Just for a moment, Tony let himself revel in the feel of Steve's head resting on his shoulder, the softness of his hair against his cheek, the weight of a body hard with muscle... hard...

Ignore that.

He'd surely waited long enough for anyone watching – and presumably they were watching – to be either shocked or interested or both. Now his right hand was hidden by Steve's body, he could move it to his belt.

Metal was cold under his fingers. The buckle was still there.

"Let's blow this joint, Cap" he whispered in Steve's ear, as he teased the buckle open, unclipped it from the belt, then hooked a fingernail into the catch on the edge, pulling the hair-thin wire free. "Close your eyes."

He tossed the buckle away from him, hearing the thud as it hit the wall, knowing it would stick there as if it had been glued. Using his weight to bear Steve to the floor, and his body to hide what he was doing with the wire, he hooked it into one of the terminals on the edge of the arc reactor, then pulled Steve's face tight into his body, just in case he was tempted to look.

For Tony didn't need to look to know the buckle was glowing, first red, then white, then so bright that it would blind before you could identify the colour as it expanded outwards melting everything around it, eating away the metal walls. He could feel the heat surge then fade against his back.

The device had been designed that so it would destroy anything up to Cap's shield. It should certainly deal with the wall, and, as a bonus, the light would overload and burn out the sensors of any digital cameras (or old-fashioned film cameras, come to that) that happened to be surveying the room.

He counted down the fifteen seconds the burn should last in his head, then added another five to be sure, before rolling away from Steve and to his feet.

There was a large circular hole in the wall, soft sunlight streaming through it, together with far off voices, the baying of dogs and the drone of insects.

Steve was already striding towards it, and Tony followed in his wake, grumbling that, "You might at least congratulate me on being my own Q."

"Just as long as I'm M rather than Moneypenny," Steve retorted, reminding Tony that Bond was at least one modern icon to which Steve had been introduced.

"Nah, Pepper's both M and Moneypenny—" Tony broke off, remembering how many Bond girls had turned out to be traitorous – or dead.

Oh, fuck, he could not be distracted by worrying about Pep's possible treachery right now.

Steve had a hand up, signalling to Tony to stay back as he flung himself through the hole and into a shoulder roll across the hard packed earth. Coming to a crouch, he signalled to Tony to follow him.

Tony took as deep a breath as he could, told himself to put his trust in Steve, and hurled himself through. Heat and light and noise hit him like a wall. He staggered, but strong hands caught him and hauled him upright, then into the shadow of the building they had just exited.

It was one of the round, not-huts that he had observed on the way in, linked to the main building by a verandah-like walkway raised maybe four feet above the baked earth.

"At least we haven't been moved – we still have some idea of the way to the border," Tony said.

"They'll be expecting us to make a run for it as soon as they realise we've escaped," Steve replied. 

By now Tony was well aware how Steve's tactical mind worked. "So we don't. Well, not until I've had my hands on their computers."

Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, it's better than trying to interrogate White Wolf," Tony pointed out. "Unless we can get our hands on their all-too-fuckin'-effective truth drug. Besides, I want my armour, and the only way to get that is to contact Jarvis. Easiest way to do it is via the internet. Hence, computers."

"You think they have computers?"

"I know they have computers. They hacked mine."

"So you want to hack them back." There was a reckless gleam in Steve's eyes that brought an answering grin to Tony's lips. "I agree about White Wolf. N'kendi's a possible weak link, if we can grab him. And he speaks good English. Follow me." He drifted into the shadow thrown by the walkway, just as a trio of men padded onto it – White Wolf and two warriors. White Wolf still had the gun that had immobilised them earlier, but the warriors were carrying spears, with the ubiquitous machete-like wide-bladed weapons thrust into metal studded belts.

Were they here to investigate the burnt-out cameras? Or for some other reason?

Crouching beside Steve, Tony held his breath as the hollow sound of boots on wood moved overhead, then away from them towards their recent prison. Then Steve was moving, out into the light and vaulting up onto the walkway.

To Tony's ears he had been silent, but White Wolf whirled, snatching the gun from its holster. By then though, Steve was on him, smashing the gun aside and sending it flying over the edge of the walkway. Tony dived after it. 

Before he reached it, though, a spear buried itself in the ground inches from his hand, penetratingly nearly two feet deep into hard-packed earth. Tony threw himself sideways into a shoulder roll, expecting a second spear to follow. Instead, the second warrior had leaped from the walkway and was also heading for the fallen gun.

White Wolf shouted something, but was cut off abruptly at the same moment as Tony came to his feet between the warrior and the gun.

The warrior swung the butt end of the spear at his head. Ignoring the temptation to grab it, Tony slid underneath the blow and struck upwards at the warrior's unprotected throat.

As the man grunted in pain and fell to his knees, Tony dodged past him and snatched up the gun.

Guns were part of Tony's business, or had been, for over twenty years. He hadn't designed this gun but whoever did had known his business too. Tony's hand fell onto place naturally, and the controls were instinctive.

A warrior – the one who had thrown his spear at Tony, presumably – had just landed only feet away, blade in hand.

Tony fired, and the air shimmered in an expanding cone that embraced the warrior, who gasped, and tumbled backwards, the blade flying from his hand. It hit the floor of the walkway, slicing through the ceramic and burying itself to the hilt.

Tony just had time to wonder if it was made of the same material as the spearhead and, if so, where he could get his hands on some, before the man he had downed first began climbing to his feet. A short burst from the gun sent him back to the ground. 

Steve, meanwhile, had subdued White Wolf and was grinning down from the walkway at Tony. "Good work," he said. "Keep the gun and pick up a couple of those machetes. They could be useful."

"They're called pangas, if they were made around here," Tony said, retrieving the weapons.

Steve hoisted White Wolf into a fireman's lift with casual ease, and jumped down from the walkway. "I don't care what they're called. We need to secure this trio and hide them."

"You mean you haven't killed him?" Tony said, levelling the gun at White Wolf's slumped body as Steve let it drop to the earth.

"No, I haven't killed him, but he won't wake up for a while. I had to hit him hard; he's a tough cookie."

"Then he's no use to us," Tony said, using a panga to cut away a warrior's weapon belt and split it into two thin strips with which he could bind its owner. This alloy really was amazing.

"His suit might be," Steve said, consideringly. "We're pretty much of a height and weight. And he was maybe coming to get you. If so, no one will be surprised to see you as my – his – prisoner."

"Unless they ask you a question. You don't speak a word of the language," Tony pointed out.

"Didn't seem like the sort of commander his men would question."

"No, but they might look for orders. All the same, it could work," Tony admitted reluctantly. "With a lot of luck. So, let's take a look at you, Mr White Wolf." He reached out and pulled the headpiece away, then sat back on his heels in surprise. "Well, now that's interesting." The man's face beneath the mask was indisputably white. "I wonder if the Wakandans know?" he added, with a smirk.

"Not important," Steve said. "Help me strip him. Then we need to hide these guys."

 

By the time Tony emerged from stowing all three men below the walkway, Steve was in his underwear attempting to get into White Wolf's suit. He'd thought his Captain American uniform was tight, and the suit Tony had designed was no better, but White Wolf's was definitely going to pinch.

"You're going to regret leaving your pants behind," Tony said. He was staring, a big grin on his face. Not for the first time, Steve wondered if this was an attempt to embarrass him or if he really was... interested.

He's Pepper's, Steve reminded himself. And there's no hint, not even in the tabloids, to suggest he's interested in men, no touch of that kind of scandal. And I guess the gutter press will have looked hard for it over the years. So, he is trying to embarrass me. Well, two could play that game.

"You could always put my clothes on over your clothes," he suggested. "They're big enough but not too big."

That certainly changed Tony's expression. "You're kiddin'—" he protested. "I wouldn't be seen dead... You aren't kidding?"

"Would you rather have this one?" Steve asked, the words muffled by the top half of the White Wolf suit as he squirmed into it.

"I'll wear your clothes over mine," Tony said hurriedly. "We'd better hurry. How long do you suppose we were out?"

"I've no idea what day it is, but it looks like coming up to sunset. Right. Give me that gun and let's do this."

 

The walkway led to a real verandah and a door into the main building. Steve opened it a crack and peered inside. Beyond was a small, empty room. Steve kept his left hand on Tony's arm, with his right resting on the butt of the holstered gun as he stepped through.

They were in a short corridor or guard room, which seemed to have been recently occupied, in all probability by the warriors currently lying bound, gagged and unconscious only a few feet away.

Steve led the way to the far door, opened it a crack and peered out, blinking in the comparative brightness of the artificial light. Beyond was a narrow passageway with a low suspended ceiling. The walls were plain rough-cast plaster in imitation of mud, and the light seemed diffuse, from an invisible source, but there were no other doors, and the corridor had... well, kinks... where it suddenly turned through ninety degrees.

The air had the dry feel of air conditioning, which convinced Tony that the computers were somewhere close.

Steve wasn't so sure. Those sharp bends in the corridor – a corridor, he noted, without any visible doors – looked to him like a defence measure. And, within minutes, he was convinced that this was the case but that, if there were computers, they were behind invisible doors, that they could neither locate nor open. 

They had turned three of the sharp bends when alarms started bellowing deafeningly all about them. At least, he took the noises like an elephant trumpeting to be alarms of some kind.

He and Tony exchanged glances with a single thought: that their escape had been detected—

Then Steve's hand tightened on Tony's arm in warning as half a dozen of the lightly armoured warriors came hurrying towards them, plainly relieved to see them and unsurprised at Tony's presence.

They halted and bowed their heads slightly in a gesture of respect – or possibly fear. Not a single one showed any surprise.

One said two words to Steve in that unknown language.

Guessing that so curt a message conveyed something White Wolf might be expecting and, if they were exceptionally lucky, might have issued the orders that had brought the warriors here, Steve nodded curtly, though he was prepared to draw the gun the instant any of the warriors showed any signs of suspicion. But White Wolf's taciturn manner now played into his hands. The warriors fell into place around them, plainly an escort and probably not ceremonial one, Steve suspected. He squeezed Tony's arm again and stepped forward, letting a pair of warriors lead the way.

 

Within moments they were back at the shadowed room through which they had first entered the building, following the warriors out of the great bronze doors into the early evening. The humidity was like being slapped in the face with a hot towel. Though the sky was still bright in the west, the shadows were long and midnight black. Within less than half an hour it would be night.

The whole compound looked to be in chaos, with warriors running and dogs barking as the alarms sounded. But that, Steve saw immediately, was deceptive; the warriors were moving with purpose to pre-arranged stations. This wasn't panic, but a planned response.

To what? Not their escape, obviously.

While most of the warriors ignored them, others fell in with their escort as it moved forward in formation towards the gates leading to the outer compound, which were already topped by warriors armed with bow and spear. The lack of guns bothered him for reasons he could not immediately identify. His first act in defending a place like this would have been to place snipers on the walls and he was sure that White Wolf would be just as tactically aware.

The gates were swinging open, not wide, but just wide enough to let their party through. 

Maybe, just maybe, Steve thought, this situation might be turned to their advantage. For as long as he could maintain this masquerade.

 

Tony's mind was racing as they made their way out of the inner compound. He was sure Steve could take out their escort at any time, with or without help from him, but the bowmen on the walls worried him, as they would anyone who had worked with Hawkeye. Nor, having encountered the spears, was he at all sure that the bows or the arrows were anything like as primitive as they seemed. Maybe these people didn't need guns at all, and the one Steve was carrying might tip the odds in their favour.

The outer compound was deserted, save for a vehicle hovering a foot or two above the ground and a black clad man standing a few yards in front of it, a darker shadow in the fading light.

Tony's eyes narrowed as he focused on the strange tech. The vehicle – no, he was not going to think of it as a flying car, so there – was boat-shaped and open topped, with no lights showing except a faint glow from what was probably the dash. It had no skirts and there was no movement of air beneath it, so it wasn't a ground effect vehicle, and there was no glow of repulsors. That would bear investigation.

The reaction of the warriors suddenly seemed over the top. Unless, of course, they knew something Tony did not, such as the vehicle being heavily armed, which was entirely possible, even probable.

What was more, the inhabitants of the outer compound hadn't vanished, but were watching from the shadows around the dwellings, from doorways, and from beneath the not-really-thorn wall that ringed the outer compound.

In which there was now a hole, some ten feet wide.

But the Wakandans watched in total silence as one of the hounds Tony had seen earlier lolloped across the compound, gave the waiting man a cursory sniff, and sat between him and the vehicle.

Tony really did not want a run in with the dogs and, judging by the tension in Steve's hand as it gripped his arm, he felt the same way. He wondered if it was the dog or the black clad man that caused the same tension in the leading members of their escort as they came to a halt a few feet from the vehicle.

The newcomer was tall, clad in a skin-tight suit, rather like White Wolf's but black and without the shoulder armour, the cape or any obvious weapons. If the suit had a mask, it had been pushed back to fall about his neck, revealing the handsome, determined face of a man probably in his mid-twenties, about Steve's apparent age. Also, unlike White Wolf, he was plainly a Wakandan native.

Deliberately, he lifted his head and stared up at the bowmen on the compound walls, then his gaze moved to focus on each of the escort in turn, before finally settling on Steve, in the White Wolf suit.

"Well, Hunter, are the Hatut Zeraze scared I will break my given word – and do you think they could hold me if I did?" he asked sardonically, and in English. His voice was deep with a faint hint of an educated English accent and, to Tony's astonishment, it was familiar.

"You were the man in Washington, the one who hacked my systems!" Tony exclaimed, half in anger, half in admiration and wholly as a distraction because Steve could not answer without giving away his identity.

The man in black did not take his eyes from Steve, but, "My profound apologies, Mr Stark," he said. "If I hadn't given you reason to trust me, you would not have been tricked into coming here."

"I thought we had an agreement," Tony said.

"We had. I didn't break it, but Hunter here needed you as bait."

"Bait? For what?"

"For me. They think that by holding me they will stop progress, keep Wakanda and its people in the past while still holding onto our technological lead on the continent. They are quite wrong." That barb seemed to be aimed at White Wolf and the man who placed it seemed surprised that it went unanswered. He was frowning as he turned to Tony. "But you were accompanied here." His intense gaze switched back to Steve, silent in the White Wolf suit. "Hunter, what have you done with Mr Stark's companion? His freedom was to be guaranteed too."

Steve said nothing, just stood with his hand on the butt of the gun, looking impressive.

The black-clad man's eyes narrowed, then widened very slightly in surprise. He spoke sharply in what was presumably Wakandan, not to Steve or rather, not to White Wolf, but to their escort. It was plainly couched as an order. The warriors looked at each other with uncomfortable expressions, then at Steve, who nodded, once.

Oooh, risky, Tony decided. Particularly if this new arrival had cottoned on to the fact that someone else was occupying White Wolf's costume.

It worked, though. A warrior moved over to the hovering vehicle and grasped the hound's spike collar. Two others peeled off and double-timed it back to the gates, which swung open to receive them.

"They have gone to fetch your bodyguard," the black-clad man informed him.

"You're going to let us go?"

"That is the arrangement. I drive you to the border, and Hunter here accompanies me there and back here, no doubt with that gun at my head." He bowed with deep irony to Steve, with a wide gesture towards the vehicle in which he had, presumably, arrived. "Lead the way, brother."

Steve grasped Tony's arm and moved towards the strange vehicle, the black-clad man beside them and their escort a few steps to the rear.

It couldn't be this easy, could it? 

Then the man in black moved closer to Tony and spoke very softly, not in English but in German. "Both of you get into the vehicle – the Hatut Zeraze won't be alarmed. They will think White Wolf is putting me off my guard while you wait for your bodyguard. On the left of the control panel is a recessed black button. When you press it it will active an automatic pilot. You will be flown directly to Dar es Salaam, where you should be safe. There is also a cell phone that will operate there, US passports with appropriate visas, and local currency. I would advise your immediate return to America."

"What about you?" Tony asked, in the same language.

"I will cover your retreat."

Like hell, Tony thought. However, he climbed into the back seat of the vehicle as instructed. Steve was about to follow when the warrior holding the dog, which was now alternately growling and barking in earnest, spoke to him in Wakandan, his voice rising in an obvious question.

Steve shook his head, one hand moving in a 'stand back' gesture.

The warrior let the dog go. It leaped straight for Steve, teeth bared. Steve spun sideways, fist striking out at the dog's throat.

It fell like a stone.

Tony, meanwhile, was into the vehicle's front seat, assessing the controls. The vehicle was floating a couple of feet above the ground so whatever powered it was probably still running. The control yoke was like that of a conventional aircraft but, instead of a rudder bar under his feet, there were two pedals within reach of his left foot, and a short bar under his right.

Assuming the right hand bar was, indeed a rudder, the—

"Tony, catch!"

Steve threw White Wolf's gun to Tony who caught it in midair with his right hand while pulling the yoke back with his left and stamping down on the left hand pedal.

The vehicle shot upwards and backwards. Something exploded to the left, sending the craft spinning out of control towards the outer 'thorn' barricade.

 

With Tony armed and reasonably safe, Steve concentrated on disarming and disabling as many of the warriors as he could without killing any of them. He could not take such chances with the dogs.

As he fought, he became aware that the ranks of the enemy were being thinned at a rate equal to his own by their new ally. He might not be as strong as Steve, but he was even faster and Steve did not recognise his technique, though he hoped he would have the chance to study it...

Guessing that they would be even more effective as a team, Steve began to make his way towards him.

 

Tony had brought the vehicle under control by frantic use of the yoke and rudder, and was gaining height, circling up above the compound. 

From there, he could see Steve and their unexpected ally, white and black clad, fighting back to back in a deadly dance that was awe-inspiring.

A volley of arrows came out of the dark, probably from the compound walls, which Tony couldn't see in the gathering dark. The arrows fell short of the fighting, but sent up clouds of dust and dirt as they exploded on impact.

Hawkeye would probably kill to get his hands on those arrowheads.

He had no more time to experiment with the vehicle controls. Tony aimed it straight at where he thought the gates of the inner compound were situated and gunned the engine. With his thumb, he shoved the gun's control to full and aimed at the gates as they emerged from the twilight, firing a long burst, raking from left to right.

Wall, gate and gatehouses shattered into thousands of pebble sized fragments, a hail of stone and blood and flesh, because there had been warriors on all three—

Tony swallowed bile as the vehicle powered onwards, unable to see anything, until, bursting out of the red cloud, he found himself almost on top of the main building.

He yanked the yoke back, still keeping his finger tight on the gun's trigger. It took out most of the roof before it ceased to fire. Out of power, presumably.

It was enough, though. The vehicle cleared the roofless walls and rubble by a totally adequate three inches, allowing Tony to turn it in a wide circle. He scanned the compound-turned-battlefield thanking (problematic) deities for the white suit that identified Steve in the gloom. To Tony's profound relief, he was still on his feet and fighting.

Tony sent the vehicle sweeping in at head height into the fight, making warriors and dogs leap for their lives.

Steve, now bareheaded, glanced towards him, then, as Tony attempted, not very successfully, to apply the air brakes, vaulted easily on board.

They needed no words. They had not needed words since the battle of Manhattan. Finding the correct controls, Tony sent the vehicle backwards and to the right.

Leaning out, Steve grabbed the black clad man by the arms and hauled him inside as Tony spun the vehicle on its axis, sending the warriors flying.

"Evasive action!" Steve shouted.

"On it."

"I gave my word—" their passenger was protesting.

"We've kidnapped you," Tony retorted, as he zigzagged the vehicle through the gap in the outer fence towards the darkening jungle. "So you didn't break your word. Not that it seems to matter to these goons."

"You are crazy, both of you." But it was said with resignation, and a kind of admiration.

"Probably," Tony said. "But you put yourself on the line to save us. As Avengers, we can't do any less."

"Then, unless you can see in the dark, you'd better let me take the controls."

"And you can? See in the dark, that is?" Tony asked, even as he obligingly climbed out of the driver's seat and let the Wakandan take his place.

"Of course. I am chosen of the Panther god. Enhanced night vision – how would you Americans say? – comes with the territory."

Tony might have scoffed at this extraordinary claim, save that the Wakandan was now weaving them through the jumble of trees and vines at blinding speed. He was glad he couldn't see much of what was around them.

It was Steve who answered out of the darkness. "We're going to need that and more. They're already on our trail."

Tony looked back. Lights blazed in the darkness, growing ever closer. He said, "Back in the States, when you interrogated me, you had a cloaking device. We sure could use it right now."

"We cannot use it while we are still moving."

"Well, that's a bummer," Tony agreed. "Because they're gaining on us. And we've no way to fight back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long. Christmas, various small domestic emergencies and a slight writer's block are to blame.


	14. The Panther's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Hatut Zeraze in pursuit, the sensible thing would be to get out of Wakanda as soon as possible, right? But whoever said Tony and Steve – or their new ally – were sensible?

"You're making assumptions again, Stark," Steve shouted to Tony over the rush of wind, as the Wakandan flier jinked through the jungle night, tearing leaves and vines loose and tossing them into the air with its passing. At least their driver, whether by luck or skill, was missing the tree trunks and the bigger branches. "Something blew that hole in the outer fence."

It was not Tony but their driver who responded. "Well observed. Open the side locker and you will find bows and arrows, if you can use them."

"Fucking bows and arrows, yet. Where the hell is Hawkeye when you need him?" Tony complained.

Ignoring him, Steve opened the locker. The internal light revealed two double-recurve bows and clusters of arrows, sorted into purpose made-containers by colour of their fletching. "Do these arrows explode on contact too?" he asked.

"The ones with the red fletching, yes."

"Thanks." Steve scooped up the red-fletched arrows with his left hand, without touching the bows, and hopped up onto the seat to stand upright, looking to the rear, balancing with ease on braced legs, despite the way the vehicle banked and bucked its way through the forest.

He was beginning to believe that their rescuer did have enhanced senses, because even his own serum-increased night vision had made out nothing ahead. Even now he could not discern the shapes of the pursuing vehicles behind their blazing headlights. Between them, though, the passing jungle stood out sharply in those headlights, if blurred by speed.

Transferring an arrow to his right hand he hurled it into the night, not at the attackers, but angled to the right. 

It hit exactly where he had aimed, exploding at the base of a massive tree. The flash and bang was followed immediately by both the screeches of fleeing monkeys and the creak of straining wood, then the thunderous crash of the tree falling. Before the first shock waves hit their vehicle, Steve had thrown three more arrows.

Those were the last, though, for the series of shock waves sent their vehicle skewing sideways, missing a tree by inches. All three men ducked as a branch swept low over the seats. This manoeuvre, though, left Steve fighting to keep his balance, a fight he lost as the vehicle dipped to the right. He was about to dive head first over the side when Tony grabbed a double handful of White Wolf suit and yanked him down on top of him.

Their vehicle shot out of the trees into clear air, and swerved once, picking up straight-line speed. At the controls, the man in black was chanting, the words urgent but unintelligible.

Before Steve had time to untangle himself from Tony, the vehicle did another ninety-degree turn. Steve got a glimpse of a paved road below them; then they were rising into the jungle canopy.

The instant the vehicle stopped, darkness fell around them and the loud noises of the jungle night ceased equally abruptly. So did the driver's chant.

"Your cloaking device," Tony's voice observed, his voice somewhat muffled by Steve's not inconsiderable weight.

"Yes. One moment." Seconds later, a soft light lit the interior of the vehicle and the face of its driver, though Steve could see nothing beyond its edges. "The road leads to the border and they will expect me to take you there. But the border guards will already have been alerted and I am not sure which of them I can trust. I cannot risk letting you cross tonight. There will soon be an opportunity to retreat to a safe place."

Steve sighed. He knew that that reflection of his own arrogance would provoke Tony and, indeed, as soon as he had extracted himself, his partner glared at their rescuer, who had turned in his seat and was watching them with a faint air of amusement.

"If we were interested in safe places, would we have left New York?" Tony snapped.

He was ignored. "Why are you wearing two sets of clothing?" the Wakandan asked, instead. "It seems ... a little eccentric. Particularly so close to the equator."

"I'm afraid Tony's spare suit is mine," Steve said, trying for wry amusement. "I'm not so fond of this outfit I'd abandon my clothes for it."

"Then I suggest you get rid of it. I find it extremely distracting."

"So do I," Tony said unexpectedly, with a leer in Steve's direction.

Steve contemplated counting to ten, but abandoned the idea at two. Years of dealing with James Barnes' particular sense of humour urged him to counter attack instead. "An' you look equally ridiculous. Get 'em off, Stark."

The leer grew more horrible. "Wanna make me?"

Steve bit back his retort. He should have realised how wound-up Tony was, recognised the tension, fear and guilt that was prompting this ... what was the modern term?... 'inappropriate behaviour'? But he couldn't deal with it now, not when their Wakandan warrior was watching them with a faint air of amusement. Instead he said, deadpan, "Okay, suit yourself." That made Tony laugh, defusing the tension. He shed both jackets, then reached for the buttons of the outer of the two shirts he was wearing.

 

Ten minutes later Tony was staring resolutely into the blackness that surrounded the vehicle, carefully not watching Steve finish dressing. He wondered idly if their enemies were lurking beyond the cloak, waiting for it to drop before overwhelming them.

That would solve all their problems.

Maybe Steve should have kept the White Wolf costume after all. It was good for a laugh, with that cape and those shoulder pads.

And it was 'distracting'.

But the Wakandan had no damn right to make such a suggestive comment to Steve.

And neither did he. He should have kept his mouth shut and let Steve deal with it.

"That is better," the Wakandan's deep voice said. "Even with the cowl down, I kept seeing my brother. Though I am not sure that is what Stark thought—"

Tony whirled to face him. "You're very free with my name when you haven't told us yours," he said coldly. "Who the hell are you, mystery man?"

White teeth flashed in what might have been a grin or a snarl. "In that Hunter is White Wolf," he said evenly, "I am the Black Panther. You may address me as 'Panther'."

Tony snorted his disgust, but Steve held out a hand. "Steve Rogers."

Again there was a sudden widening of the eyes, but all the Panther said was, "I am pleased to meet you, Captain Rogers," as he clasped the offered hand. "And even more pleased to have fought beside you. Now, though, we must wait for our opportunity."

 

Every fifteen minutes or so, the Panther would lower the cloaking device for a few seconds – and without them being blown to tiny pieces, to Tony's relief. Indeed, the Panther seemed to feel safe enough to resume his chanting, though at first it was plain that the road, maybe fifty feet away, was busy with traffic and the sky was dotted with distant headlights as well as stars.

However, with each lowering of the cloak there was less and less activity and less and less light, while banks of cloud advanced from the east, though there seemed to be little wind in the canopy.

Within an hour, when the Panther lifted the cloak, there was almost no change in the light levels, and the sky was uniformly dark. It seemed to be the signal for him to send the flier racing across the billowing surface of the forest trees.

 

Half an hour later, they were zigzagging up the side of a mountain, keeping closer to the rock face than seemed possible.

"Hang on," the Panther ordered, as the flier came to a halt, hovering in midair. A breath later and it was dropping like a stone.

Tony yelped and grabbed for the nearest handhold, which happened to be Steve, who smothered his own exclamation of surprise and tightened his grip on the door. Not that either of them supposed they would escape with their lives...

Only they didn't hit the ground.

Instead they were falling through a sky full of glittering stars, a night full of fireflies.

Then the Panther switched on the headlights and it became clear that they were in a controlled fall down a shaft in the mountainside, cliffs gleaming with water on all sides, the dark rock speckled with luminescent flecks. Before Tony had time to speculate on the geology, the vehicle slid sideways the first of many narrow tunnels.

 

"You are in a maze of twisty passages, all alike," Tony muttered, as they disembarked in an area where the latest tunnel widened to form a cave, of sorts. The vehicle's lights picked out what looked like tool marks on the nearest wall, but hardly penetrated the four tunnels that sprayed off at irregular intervals. "Next thing you know, we'll need to find Flood Control Dam Number 3."

"I'm not even going to ask..." Steve, Tony was sure, was rolling his eyes.

"Hey, I learned to read so I could play Infocom text games." It was true. He'd been three and a half, according to his mother. Trying to copy her sternest glare, he looked hard at the Panther. "Assuming that we are not actually in the middle of a game of Zork, where are we?"

"In one of the tunnels leading from an ancient mine shaft, perhaps the oldest of all, dug into the mountain with stone tools. My sister and I found it some five years ago. It is one of the few places in Wakanda of which Hunter is unaware."

"You called Hunter – White Wolf? – your brother," Steve said. "But... er... that doesn't seem likely."

The Panther chuckled. "No need to be so delicate, Captain. Two years before I was born, a plane crashed on the borders of Wakanda. The only survivor was a baby boy, only a few weeks old. My father and mother adopted him. In all the ways that count, he is my brother and his loyalty to the country and our people is unquestioned." Apparently feeling that this was the last word on the matter, he leaped out of the vehicle and strode over to a hitherto unnoticed stack of ... somethings ... covered by tarpaulins.

"Are you going to tell us what the hell is going on?" Tony asked, trying to keep himself from issuing a challenge and not completely succeeding.

The Panther looked back at him from where was pulling away a tarpaulin and extracting a white cube with a hollowed out centre. "Patience," he suggested, placing it on the smooth part of the floor. A touch to one side, and it sprang to life in light and heat and a semblance of flame. Next he unearthed a trio of carved wooden stools, then terracotta flasks of water and boxes containing what turned out to be the Wakandan equivalent of field rations, which were self-heating and which Steve pronounced to be "excellent". 

Tony pulled a face at that, but he was silently impressed. 

Once they had finished eating, the Panther produced a small flask of what turned out to be some unidentifiable liquor, smooth on the throat and warm in the stomach. 

It was only when they were nursing a second helping in tiny leather tots that the Panther began to speak. "One day, perhaps, you will hear the full history of Wakanda's past, but, for the moment, all you need to know of that is that we are hidden by the power of the Panther god and his... high priests... for one important reason: in the heart of this mountain lies a vast lode of pure vibranium."

Tony lifted his head. "Vibranium – if we mean the same thing by that word – doesn't occur naturally on Earth. _Can't._ "

The Panther nodded. "You're right. We think that the source is a massive meteorite that fell from space many millions of years ago, probably before there was life here, because I do not think anything but bacteria could have survived such an impact. Chance and tectonic movement eventually brought it here and closer to the surface.

"This mountain lies in the middle of the territory of the Panther tribe, and the chiefs of that tribe have, for many years, also been the kings of Wakanda, though ..." He faded into silence, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, then shook himself, and said, "Some three years ago our then king, T'Chaka, was contacted by outsiders offering high grade technology in return for vibranium. To be honest, we still distrusted your sudden change of heart, Stark, and suspected you of being the mind behind the offer, but Hunter, who T'Chaka had appointed head of the Hatut Zeraze, could find no evidence to implicate you."

"What is the Hatut Zeraze?" Steve asked.

The Panther grimaced. "Once it was the king's bodyguard, then its members were appointed guardians of Wakanda and now... I think the best term for them would be 'secret police.' Our very own Gestapo," he added with a quick, speculative glance at Steve, "though formed with the best of intentions."

"Welcome to our world," Tony said. "And please go on."

"T'Chaka refused the outlanders' offer outright, saying that Wakanda had all the technology it needed, and charged White Wolf with protecting our culture and our borders. He thought that was the end of it, but less than a year later, a man calling himself Ulysses Klaw somehow appeared in the very heart of Wakanda, armed with the weapon you took from White Wolf, or one identical to it."

He sighed. "I said that the chief of the Panther tribe becomes king of Wakanda, but that is not strictly true. He – or she – is open to challenge from within the Panther tribe or from among the chiefs of all the tribes of Wakanda. However, the Panther God is the strongest of all the local gods, and all members of the ruling family are endowed with enhanced speed and strength. They also possess a genetic quirk that allows them to consume a herb that grows on this mountain. It lets them communicate with the Panther God, who responds by further enhancing their senses."

" _Allows_ them?" Tony asked sharply.

"It is a deadly poison to everyone else."

"Convenient."

The Panther shrugged. "Nonetheless, true. But that day, T'Chaka was challenged by the chief of the exiled White Gorilla tribe. He had beaten him when Klaw appeared and killed T'Chaka, using the gun. Unluckily for him, the king's son saw what happened, killed Klaw, then defeated the White Gorilla chief and banished him back to his forest.

"The new king was a young man who had spent much time abroad and he hesitated, at first, to change T'Chaka's policies. He set the Hatut Zeraze to find out how Klaw had entered Wakanda and who had sent him. In this task they failed, but reported that a very secret international agency had tried to cross our borders at the time T'Chaka was killed."

"Let me guess. SHIELD. You're talking about SHIELD," Tony indentified.

"Yes, but there seemed to be no link between it and Klaw. The SHIELD agents appeared to have been turned back at our borders by the power of the Panther God—" Then, at Tony's badly-concealed snort, "Well, and our technology. It was only later that we understood how thinly their resources had been spread at that time. Or how little they knew about us. Or how much the organisation that sent Klaw did know about us." He grimaced. "One thing the new king was convinced of was that many of our customs were no longer suited to the present time. He began to accelerate T'Chaka's policy of modernisation. There was opposition to this, not least from his council and the Hatut Zeraze. So when the king made plans to reveal Wakanda to the outside world, he confided these to very few."

Tony raised a sceptical eyebrow. "White Wolf?"

"Most emphatically not."

"But he found out anyway," Steve guessed.

"Not at that time, though eventually it proved impossible to hide such a project from the Hatut Zeraze," the Panther admitted, with a wry twist to his lips. "But I am getting ahead of my tale."

"It was after the alien invasion and the Battle of Manhattan that we were contacted again, this time via our own communication systems. Whoever it was was very angry. According to them, Mr Stark, you had gained access to the vibranium we had refused to supply to them – and they were convinced we had supplied that vibranium, however much we might deny it. 

"But we _knew_ that we had not, at least officially, supplied anyone with vibranium since the then king had arranged for a sample to land in the hands of your father early in the Second World War. But after the Battle of Manhattan, it seemed ... feasible ... that you had, indeed, gained access to it, not least because you had duplicated Captain America's shield."

"That's the original," Steve corrected gently.

The Panther gave him a long, assessing, look, but made no comment.

"So you interrogated me in Washington, and hacked my systems," Tony said.

For the first time, the Panther's smile was friendly. "No, you allowed me to hack your systems."

"Yeah, I thought it might get you off my back."

"It convinced me that you came by your vibranium honestly, if in a manner disturbing for our security." The Panther paused, then added, "It seemed that we were in danger of being overtaken by your new technology, of losing the advantage that being a source of natural vibranium could give us. I... the King and his Council began to consider whether we should approach you to offer to supply your vibranium ourselves."

Tony gave a soft whistle. "That would be helpful – it's a devil to synthesise in quantity. And I'm in a race against time to supply enough arc reactors to slow climate change, and... well..."

"Well?" The Panther asked sharply, plainly wavering between suspicion and eagerness.

"Aliens will be back. If not the Chitauri, then others. Earth needs to be ready to battle them, if and when the time comes. Wakanda... could help."

"Perhaps. But right now— Wakanda— is— " The Panther took a deep breath to steady himself. " A group of mercenaries appeared right in the heart of Wakanda, and the Hatut Zeraze allied with them."

"Why?" Steve asked. Then, as both men looked at him as if they had almost forgotten he was there. "You said their job was to protect Wakanda. So why ally with these mercenaries?"

"I am not certain," the Panther admitted. "I suspect that Hunter, at least, believes that if we supply them with what they want, they will leave Wakanda in peace, to continue as it has done for many centuries."

"Well, good luck with that," was Tony's comment.

"For once we are in agreement, Stark."

"What about the king?" That was Steve again, asking the pertinent question.

"He was... unwilling to risk the lives of any of his people."

"He what, surrendered?"

The Panther rounded on Tony, "No! He... escaped. Ordered those loyal to him not to fight back and went into hiding."

"You're fighting back," Tony pointed out.

"My position as the Black Panther requires it."

"What about the rest of Wakanda? Will they accept the results of the coup? Or will they put up resistance?"

"The Panther tribe, at least, will wait to see what member of the family of their tribal chiefs is beloved of the Panther God." All the same the Panther sounded... uncertain.

"By not dying if they eat this herb of yours?"

"The heart-shaped herb. Yes."

"And just how many family members are we talking about?"

The Panther's expression was now inscrutable "Less than half a dozen."

"That's odd," Tony said. "I would have thought this 'anti-herb-poison’ trait would be spread fairly widely through the population of the Panther tribe and probably quite a few others by now."

"Almost certainly," the Panther agreed, "but until a person risks taking it, in raw form or brewed into a draught, they cannot know for certain that they will survive."

"What about the challenge you mentioned earlier? The one where this person with the ridiculous name interfered?" Tony's questions were sharp.

"That concerns the kingship, not the Panther god."

"So someone could become king without taking the herb?"

"Possibly, but not without defeating the king in mortal combat. And the Panther god would not accept him – or her – and much of our defence rests on the Panther god. Though how they have breached those defences, how Klaw arrived at the most sacred place in Wakanda, how these foes entered the Golden City without the co-operation of the God himself, I still have no idea. Yet they did it, and until I know how—"

"I might have an idea about that, Your Majesty," Tony interrupted. "You are the king of Wakanda, aren't you? T'Chaka's son?"

The Panther was unsurprised. "I did not expect to fool you entirely, but though I am T'Challa, son of T'Chaka, Black Panther, Chief and High Priest of the Panther tribe, I do not, currently, rule Wakanda. No one does. And I was never _your_ majesty. What's your idea, Stark?"

"There is someone or some organisation which has been trying to kill me. That organisation has what appears to be the equivalent of a _Star Trek_ transporter – you know _Star Trek_?"

"I took my PhD – it's in particle physics, by the way, Stark – at University College, Oxford," the Panther said. "So yes; it would be difficult to avoid such a universal undergraduate icon."

Tony nodded. "Same at M.I.T. Anyhow, this transporter or portal or teleporter does have a weakness – it's double-ended. It needs a device placed at the reception point. So I would suggest, T'Challa son of T'Chaka, that you have a traitor working for these people – and as they seem to be able to go abroad at will, I'd take a hard look at the members of the Hatut Zeraze."

"Or of my council, yes. But you also need to 'take a hard look', in your case, at your staff. The information that you were using vibranium came from somewhere."

Tony shrugged elaborately. "Almost certainly SHIELD." He hoped he sounded confident and untroubled, but Steve was frowning at him. No doubt there would be questions to answer from him. "And SHIELD, while not our enemies, are not allies or friends, either. The Avengers have broken their links with the organisation."

"There is still an Avengers?" Again, the Panther sounded surprised.

"Oh, yes," said Tony, "and we have a stake, a large one, in this."

T'Challa's response was sharp. "Not in Wakanda."

"We still have a stake," Tony repeated. "I have a personal score to settle with these guys."

"And we also have a debt to pay to you," Steve said. "The more you involve the Avengers, the less you have to involve your own people.”

"You have no say _at all_ in this matter." T'Challa rose to his feet. "There are camp beds and blankets. Sleep while you can."

Tony jumped to his feet, ready to carry on the argument, but Steve caught his eye and shook his head at him. "Leave this to me," he mouthed.

Feeling unappreciated and annoyed, Tony glared at him, but he guessed this counted as 'in the field' and Steve's orders were always worth following in those circumstances. He nodded curtly, making it clear that he was obeying, under protest, then stomped off to find the promised camp beds.

By the time he wrapped himself in a soft, thick blanket and settled down to sleep, Tony was even more annoyed. Said 'camp bed', which had unfolded, expanded and assembled itself, complete with pillow and mattress, appeared to be made of some sophisticated shape-memory polymer. There was no doubt now that T'Challa had not been kidding about how advanced Wakanda's technology actually was. Tony's only comfort was that Hank was going to be even more annoyed when he heard about it.

He felt useless without access to either the Iron Man, Jarvis or, indeed, any computer. His fingers itched for a keyboard, for his holographic displays. He'd give anything right now for a crap tablet or even, God help him, an iPhone, though if anyone at Apple ever heard about it they'd never let him live it down...

Of course, he wasn't going to be able to sleep right now, and he was determined to be around to mock Steve if... when... he failed to talk the Panther round. 

He could hear their voices, if not the words.

Maybe, if he concentrated...

 

He woke sweating, his heart pounding behind the arc reactor, his thoughts catching at the remnants of the fleeing dream, but all that was left was fear.

It was dark, save for the tiny flecks of luminescence in the rock and the reflected glow of the firebox. Of course, no daylight could penetrate this far underground, and he had no watch, so he had no idea how long he had slept.

He sat up hurriedly.

There was no sign of the Panther, but Steve's familiar silhouette stood out black against the glow of the firebox. 

Tony slid to his feet, winced at the cold of the rock which penetrated right through the cotton and silk mix of his socks, and paused to don his shoes before making his way over to the firebox and taking the stool beside Steve.

"Where's the Panther?" he asked, as Steve, apparently unsurprised, turned to look at him. "Did you talk him round?"

"Not sure," Steve said, jerking a thumb at one of the tunnels. "He says he's withdrawn to meditate before making any decisions. Though he'd be better off asleep. As would you."

"Uh-huh. He's not the only one who needs to decide what his next step is going to be." Tony hitched his stool closer to Steve, not touching, but close enough so that their arms would brush if Steve leaned forward.

"You don't trust him," Steve said, and it didn't sound like a question.

"I haven't decided whether I trust him or not," Tony replied evenly. "If he is the king of this country he shouldn't have put himself in his enemies' hands in order to rescue a couple of intruders that _he_ doesn't trust."

"A matter of honour," Steve said. "He was used to bring you here. It's a debt he had to pay."

"He isn't telling us everything, Cap."

"Why should he? He has more excuse for holding out on us than you do on me."

It was said so calmly that it took Tony a moment to realise the implications.

"I wish you'd trust me," Steve added wistfully.

"I—" Fuck, fuck fuck. "Of course I trust you."

"Not completely. There's something bugging you. At first I thought it was that Colonel Rhodes hasn't contacted you, but Jarvis says you've located him."

"I'm going to reprogram that A.I.," Tony muttered but his heart wasn't really in it. Indeed, if Steve could be diverted by this idea he ought to be grateful. Anything was better than confessing his real suspicions to him. He raised his voice, "Rhodes still has the War Machine armour. I need to keep tabs on it."

The silence stretched. It was Steve who broke it. "So where _is_ Colonel Rhodes – or War Machine, if you insist on pretending you don't care about the man rather than your tech?"

"Supposedly he's been assigned to run a training squadron out in Nevada, effectively a demotion. The armour's GPS places it there too – oh, I installed that when I tailored the armour for Rhodey, along with some nasty little surprises for anyone who tried to tamper with the repulsors or the reactor. I hope it isn't Velasco. I kinda like him—"

"Tony," Steve interposed, without force, but there was a note in his voice that blocked the other man's flow of words. "Not Rhodes, then, and Bruce is fine, so..." He suddenly looked alarmed. "Is something wrong with Pepper?

Damn it, where had he pulled that one from? He was getting too fucking good at reading Tony's thoughts!

"Pep's fine," he answered lightly, and truthfully. "Overworked, but which of us isn't?"

Steve's expression sympathetic, but Tony just knew it masked scepticism. "Don't worry," he said. "I won't press. But if you need a sympathetic ear... well, if you don't trust me – or you think I'm too young and inexperienced – there's always Bruce.

Tony winced and then hoped that that hadn't been visible. "It's not that. It's something I have to be sure about before I ac— tell anyone."

"And you're not?"

"No." But even as he spoke, Tony's insufferable ability to calculate the odds was telling him that he was as sure as he needed to be.

"Okay," Steve said. "But promise me that if I can help, you'll let me."

"That I can promise." Because it would never need to happen. The last thing he wanted was Steve involved. "So, did you make any impression on His Majesty?"

"Maybe. I think he's working his way around to accepting that I'm the original Captain America, but he's too polite to ask outright for confirmation. His grandfather helped your father and, through him, me. That should count in our favour – though I'm still not completely convinced we should be taking sides."

"The enemy of my enemy is my ally," Tony said. "At least while our interests stay in line."

"If you say so."

"Then there's SHIELD. There's a distinct fishy odour to their presence. Probably shark."

"If SHIELD was hanging around Wakanda, it may have been because they thinking about recruiting for the Initiative," Steve said. 

"More likely after the vibranium. From what we know now, it's probably the reason why the goons behind this Klaw character also tried to kill me."

"You don't think that's SHIELD?"

"They don't have the tech." It was Tony's ultimate dismissal.

"So Fury isn't going to be any help even if we could contact him."

Tony's mouth twisted. "So we wait on the Panther's decision."

"'Fraid so."

"If we can trust a guy in black."

"More than a guy in white, apparently," Steve said. He rose to his feet and stretched. "Meanwhile, I'll show you where you can wash."

Tony grinned at him, mainly from the relief from tension. "Are you implying that I stink?"

"No implication – you do."

Tony sniffed at his armpit. "And you're right. Is there also a john?"

"An odd one, but it seems efficient enough."

"Fine. I'll feel better about facing up to His Majesty after I've used both."

 

Tony was dressed again and was gulping down water when he became aware of T'Challa standing watching him, the artificial firelight playing over his impassive face.

He said, "I have come to a decision; perhaps we can indeed aid each other."

"We can certainly aid each other," Tony said. "First, I need my armour. That means either retrieving the watch White Wolf took from me—"

"Could it summon the Iron Man suit for _him_?" the Panther asked sharply, with a touch of alarm.

"No, no. I'm not stupid. It needs me – or Steve. It's keyed to both of us."

"Good, but if White Wolf found he could not use it, he might well have destroyed it."

"Which is why the better option is getting me an internet or international phone connection."

"The first might be possible, though not from here, but we do not have compatible cell phone connection with the outside world; the large deposits of vibranium in the mountain produce interference in the microwave frequencies used for cell phone transmission and reception."

Tony wasn't sure whether this was true – though it did sound plausible – or an evasion. Certainly he had not seen anyone use a cell, nor had they found one on White Wolf or his men. "There go the property values around here."

T'Challa turned to look at Steve. "What does the strategist say?"

"Tony's right about calling the Iron Man armour, particularly if you don't want to involve your people. Apart from that, our priority must be to separate the Hatut Zeraze and White Wolf's other allies from their outside support. That means finding and destroying the portals here in Wakanda."

T'Challa nodded. "We may be able to accomplish both, at least in part, in the same location. But now you must arm yourselves." 

 

T'Challa halted their flier on the edge of the rain forest, hovering on the very edge of a cliff that dropped vertically for several hundred feet. 

Below them lay a wide coastal plain, bounded on three sides by terraced hills. Sunlight bounced blindingly off long lakes, studded with emerald islands. Beyond them lay an ocean so blue it made the sky look pale.

On the long isthmus that lay between the lakes and the ocean, the towers of a city rose about the tree line, glittering in the newly risen sun.

T'Challa said: "Behold the Golden City."

"Is that our target?" Steve asked.

"It is. Or rather, it contains the computers Stark needs and is one of the places where our enemies appear to come and go at will."

"Then let's get on with it," Tony said, trying to ignore the feeling of dread that set his heart pounding and closed his throat. "Should be interesting.


	15. Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve have chosen to assist T'Challa in regaining his kingdom and defeating their joint enemies.
> 
> But they are about to find out just how dangerous a place Wakanda can be, particularly when armour and shield have been left behind in New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that I would warn for major character death, and that you have been promised Steve/Tony and it hasn't happened yet!

The flier had turned right, away from the towers of the city, and was ghosting along the edge of the buffs, dipping through the jungle as it descended towards the coastal plain. Through an occasional gap in the trees, Steve could see that that plain was heavily farmed, criss-crossed by the silver threads of irrigation ditches. The white sails of boats on the lakes and ocean were mirrored by the white sails of windmills on the green plain, reminding him of those he had seen in the American Midwest.

As the jungle gave way to plantations of fruit trees and palms, T'Challa steered the flier even lower, skimming about a foot above the ground between the trees and shrubs. Their glimpses of the plain and lakes below grew longer. But the more Steve looked, the stranger the shapes of some of the islands seemed.

T'Challa flipped a switch, and a transparent dome clicked into place over their heads. Ahead, sunlight reflected blindingly from water. Hundreds of flamingos lifted off from the lake's surface in a flurry of pale pink wings. Under cover of the confusion, the flier sank into the lake. A crocodile, over ten feet long, snaked through the water in front of them, raising clouds of mud in its wake. Shoals of fish gave way before it, and them.

Steering a careful course, T'Challa glanced continually between his charts and the automatic pilot. Then, without warning or sight of land, he shut down the engines. The view through the dome vanished, as if shutters had been dropped on all sides.

The cloaking device, no doubt.

"Have we been spotted?" Steve asked.

"Probably not. And I do not wish to be. We are now drifting in a current that will take us... to our destination." 

 

After a while, the craft juddered, which seemed to be the signal for T'Challa to switch off the cloaking device. Bright daylight, unfiltered by water, flooded in. The craft was beached on a mud bank close to a forest-covered shore, near a huge fallen tree three-quarters drowned in the water.

"Wait for me." T'Challa lowered the roof, pulled the eared black hood over his head, and took an inhumanly long leap onto the tree trunk, running swiftly along it and disappearing into the forest.

He was back within five minutes, with the news that no one was watching for them – at least, no longer watching for them, and would Captain Rogers be so kind as to throw their 'cargo' across to him.

That did not take long, and then it was Tony's turn to leap across to the log. His jaw was set hard in a way Steve recognised, but he knew better than to say anything. T'Challa was plainly ready to catch him if he toppled, but Tony was plainly equally determined that he was going to prove himself capable of anything the king of Wakanda could throw at him and he traversed that gap and the improvised wharf successfully.

Hiding his fond smile, Steve followed, bringing up the rear as T'Challa led the way into the rain forest.

 

Tony was hot and sticky by the time they came out on the bank of a wide river. Walkways on stilts stalked out into the water, linking platforms on which stood brightly painted dwellings – too large and solid to be called 'huts' but too small to be called 'houses' – and rows of troughs overflowing with vegetation. The tide was out and the few boats remaining moored to the stilts bobbed against the lower rungs of the wooden ladders linking platforms and water.

The air reeked of drying fish and damp wood.

"Most of the people will be out fishing, and the children in school," T'Challa told them. "Still, be cautious. This way."

 

Their destination lay on the outskirts of the village where a single-track road that had been cut through the jungle forked, one branch running to a small group of what T'Challa said were warehouses on the bank of the river, while the other snaked through the trees to a large single storey building raised up on concrete pillars.

Leaving Steve and Tony hidden in the bush, T'Challa walked boldly up the steps to the doorway and rapped on it with his fist. An old man carrying a huge, spike-headed club emerged, speaking sharply in Wakandan – then he halted abruptly, and made a one-handed gesture which became an almost-bow. T'Challa waved Tony and Steve to join him, and, moments later, they were ushered urgently through the door.

The house was cool and dim, built round a central court filled with white tiles, plants and flowing water. As he watched the old man filling three beakers with liquid from a faucet with a spout fashioned in a crocodile's head, Tony wondered idly how they raised the water, whether it was recycled, if the drainage system went through the pillars on which the house stood, or if there was a central services core that he hadn't noticed on his way inside. The first beaker was offered to T'Challa, who took it with a murmur of thanks, then the others to Steve and Tony, before the old man bowed again to T'Challa and backed from the room.

T'Challa drank, and then took a seat on a stone bench, making that simple act appear as regal as taking a throne.

Yeah, well, Tony said to himself, hiding his smirk. T'Challa probably wasn't going to get the real thing back so easily.

 

Steve only had time to take a few sips of water – indeed, he had not finished debating with himself whether he could keep Tony silent by using his 'Captain America' glare – when a woman came striding into the room.

She was tall and lithe, her hair trimmed into a practical fuzz and she wore loose cotton pants and shirt, both contrasting strongly with the heavy gold necklaces that protected her throat and upper chest. Her stance was easily recognisable as that he had been taught in the classes on martial arts, in perfect balance. Whatever she was, 'warrior' had to be part of it. Hatut Zeraze? But T'Challa was relaxed on his seat.

Her head dipped in greeting to him.

T'Challa spoke a few words in answer in a language that did not sound Wakandan – plainly a greeting – then switched to English. "This is Okoye. She is one of the Dora Milaje, my ceremonial bodyguard, and the first I appointed."

Okoye had waited until he had finished speaking, but only just. Her words followed his as he drew breath, and there was a question in them.

T'Challa looked surprised, then nodded decisively. "You are right. Now is not the time for ancient protocols. We need to speak together urgently, with no misunderstandings."

"Good," Okoye said, in English. "And these men are?"

"This man is Tony Stark, the American engineer, who pilots the Iron Man armour, and can synthesise vibranium. His companion is Captain Rogers, who is his—"

"Partner," Tony said.

"Bodyguard," Steve said, at the same moment. He smiled at Okoye. "We have that in common."

T'Challa chuckled. "The members of the Dora Milaje are also, in tradition, the king's wives in training. So not that much in common, Captain."

"What an interesting tradition," Tony drawled. "Want to try it out, Cap?"

Okoye's nose wrinkled, as if the words had brought a bad smell into the room. Her lips pursed.

Steve hoped he wasn't blushing as her eyes met his in perfect sympathy. All she said, however, was, "Why are they here?"

"They were brought here on false pretences, in my name. Effectively," he added, as Tony started to protest. "They have already provided much needed information about how our enemies reached Wakanda."

"Our enemies come here by magic," Okoye said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I have had them under observation and they now have vehicles that can travel through the deepest jungle. Those appeared overnight in the city, as if the magics that protect us did not exist."

"Where, exactly?" T'Challa asked. "Their point of origin, Okoye!"

"I have not spoken to anyone who saw them arrive but they are garaged at the university, in the research centre, though some have now moved to the sacred mountain," she replied.

"So," T'Challa said, after a moment of thought, "Mr Stark needs to contact his New York headquarters, via the internet. And if he is right and our enemies use a double-ended teleportation portal, perhaps a wormhole of some sort, to transport themselves and their equipment, we need to destroy all those situated here in Wakanda. Plainly there is one at the Research Centre, which suits me well as they will not expect me there. So we will breach that enemy stronghold and give Stark the access to the computers he needs at the same time."

"Can you also dismantle the illusions that hide Wakanda from there?" Tony asked.

T'Challa frowned. "Some of them. The ones I and my father and grandfather put in place. It may be enough. Let us hope it is, but as for the ancient magic maintained by the Panther god—" He shrugged.

Steve saw the gleam in Tony's eyes as he opened his mouth to reply and kicked his ankle hurriedly. "Let's hope that it doesn't affect Artificial Intelligence. But if it does, what do you have to do?"

"Go to Panther Island and speak to the Panther god," T'Challa said. "But we should only consider that after we have destroyed the portal and switched off the technological protections."

"The laboratories in the research centre will be heavily guarded," Okoye warned, though she did not look displeased. "By Hatut Zeraze as well as these outsiders."

"And that," T'Challa said, "may be played to our advantage. We will strike in the early morning tomorrow, when few will be awake and alert. Now, though, eat and rest. Then we will plan."

 

My life has come to this, Tony thought, as the sort-of SUV that Okoye had located and T'Challa and Steve had 'liberated' approached the cluster of graceful spires rising against the fading stars above the rain forest that spilled down to the edge of the lagoon.

Being ridden herd on by three different men in the same silly white suit – with shoulder pads, cape, ears and _muzzle_ , fuck it – over less than forty-eight hours was not helping his temper – nor was the fact that Steve was not in that white suit this time, nor in sight. Nor did being secured in the passenger seat by restraints across his chest. The knowledge that one sharp movement would free him was only one more frustration because he could not take advantage of that except in the direst emergency.

There was only one guard on duty as SUV-a-like swished through grass that brushed the hood and pattered against the windows, though what he was guarding was problematic as they were driving straight towards a wall of golden coloured stone, ordinary save that it emitted a faint mauve light.

Then the guard stepped forward, and the hair on Tony's neck rose as he recognised the accoutrements of a Hatut Zeraze warrior. That warrior now waved the SUV to a halt without letting go of his spear, which, according to T'Challa, was tipped with a vibranium alloy that could cut through diamond. When the warrior saw who appeared to be at the wheel, however, he took half a dozen steps backward. The spear, now raised, was shaking slightly in his hands.

T'Challa barked a score of words in what was presumably Wakandan, and the warrior backed up even further, reaching up with one hand to touch the wall, part of which slid aside.

The SUV rolled forward through the revealed door. They were in.

 

T'Challa parked the SUV alongside a line of trucks inside a cavernous space that seemed to be beneath the building, though moonlight cascaded from a circular light well above. The area had originally been heavily planted, but the grasses were wilting, and the edges of the palms were brown and brittle. Undergrowth had been beaten to the ground and some areas were blackened and burnt either by fire or chemicals.

The restraints on Tony fell away, and T'Challa took his arm, hustling him out of the car, across the parking area, through a door into a circular, dimly lit circulation area, and straight, it seemed, into the arms of oncoming warriors.

Who weren't all Wakandan. Though not all of those in battlefield greens were white. They all had guns, though, not spears, as if the spears weren't dangerous enough. Soldiers, then, probably mercenaries, because that uniform wasn't that of any National army Tony had encountered in years of selling armaments to the world. 

Tony tensed, and T'Challa squeezed his arm in what might have been reassurance or warning, as he strode forward in total assurance that the guards would stand aside.

Indeed, the Wakandans looked nervous, and after a moment's dithering, one of them stepped forward, levelling his spear at T'Challa's throat. Tony did not understand the question he asked, but he could hear the challenge in it.

T'Challa answered at once in a voice which, though slightly muffled, was so like White Wolf's that Tony almost believed the other man had been transformed. The warrior hesitated, and now T'Challa's voice was angry and heavy with command.

It seemed to be enough. The Wakandan warrior lifted his spear and stepped aside as T'Challa ploughed past him, Tony still in tow.

The Wakandans fell in behind them; Tony hoped they were only an honour guard.

"What's goin' on?" That was one of the soldiers, who was following, though he was having to jog to keep up. Tony noted that his (unfamiliar) gun was in his hand. "Hey, big bad Wolf, that Stark you got there? Why's he still alive?" 

"Stark is _my_ prisoner, to do with as I please," T'Challa said haughtily, not pausing as they entered a corridor, with closed doors to either side, labelled in a script that looked like it bore a possible relation to Arabic. "He has information about the whereabouts of my brother – after I have that information you may have him to do with as you wish."

"I'm not interested in your brother or what use you have for him, but my bosses want Stark dead."

"When I have finished with him."

"Rogers was with Stark, right? My bosses have a use for _him_."

Inwardly, Tony groaned. As if he needed another worry. Plainly, here was yet another organisation looking for its own super-soldiers.

"Then I give you permission to look for him." T'Challa shrugged, stepped up to a door which Tony hoped was not chosen at random, and submitted to the sweep of a retinal scanner.

Tony was suddenly intensely curious as to how it scanned through the inserts in the hood that masked the eyes of both the Black Panther and White Wolf costumes.

The door slid open.

As they stepped forward, T'Challa pressed a gun – the gun he and Steve had taken from White Wolf – into Tony's hand. Both men spun as one, Tony firing straight at the nearest of the Wakandans, then shifting his aim...

Except it was unnecessary.

Tony hadn't been sure what the gun did, and he still wasn't after the crackling red light had surrounded the 'honour guard' and felled them in an instant. T'Challa, meanwhile, had taken down the man who had been questioning him, if that was what he was, in a flurry of blows worthy of Captain America himself.

T'Challa gestured to the open door. "You will find computers with access to the internet inside."

 

As soon as T'Challa and Tony had left the parking area, Steve and Okoye slid out from the back of the SUV and into the remains of the planting.

"My lord is going to be very angry about this," Okoye muttered, regarding the mess with distaste.

"I think he has higher priorities," Steve retorted, as he followed her.

"His priorities include all that lives in this land," Okoye replied seriously.

Ours are wider, Steve thought, and that was surprising enough to keep him silent as he followed Okoye between the trucks, keeping their heads well down.

Okoye touched his arm, but he had already seen it: the same blue-white flare of energy he had encountered on the Vicstar hangar roof. That one had been temporary, and he and Tony had speculated that the sniper had been carrying the controls that had both brought it into existence and let it self-destruct.

This one, though, seemed permanent and stable, a ring of crackling blue energy sitting in the middle of a concrete floor, with vehicles and stacks of packing crates surrounding it.

It was also guarded, and not by Wakandans. Four men in green camouflage battledress and carrying obvious energy weapons were gathered close to the portal; two of them were talking to each other, but the other two were covering lines of sight.

Steve looked longingly at the flaring ring. His enemies – the ones who had tried to kill Tony – lay on the other side. He was tempted to leap through and deal with them there, but until the Iron Man suit arrived Tony was desperately vulnerable. Not that it would do any good to point that out to him...

They should never have come to Wakanda.

Though, short of tying Tony up then locking him in the workshop, Steve could not think of a way he could have stopped him – and that would have put an end to the friendship that meant so much to him.

"What do you think?" Okoye asked. "How much explosive do we need?"

Steve noted approvingly that she had no doubts about their ability to deal with the guards. "Perhaps none. If it's like the last one I encountered, it has its own self-destruct system. Maybe we can trigger it from this side."

"We need a distraction. Leave that to me." Okoye slipped away, her bare feet making no sound on the concrete. 

 

 

It was not like any laboratory Tony had ever seen, but it was nearly as well equipped as the ones he had set up for Bruce and Hank in their hidden Oklahoman base. What was more, the computers had been made by Stark Industries, though they seemed heavily customised. He didn't like to think of how that had been achieved, but hoped that SI had been paid appropriately.

While T'Challa dragged the unconscious men inside and bound them securely, Tony seated himself at a terminal. Within moments, he had access to the internet, and was threading his way through his own security.

"I've established the links that mean I can take down our technical barriers from here," T'Challa said, his voice muffled not only by the White Wolf mask but because his head and one shoulder were inserted into the space behind an access panel that was lying at his feet, "I must again remind you that two levels of deception protect Wakanda: the technological and the magical. I can do nothing about the latter from here."

"Oh, magic," Tony muttered, trying not to sound totally sceptical. T'Challa plainly believed this rubbish, but his imagination promptly provided Steve and Pepper in chorus telling him to keep his views to himself while he needed T'Challa's good will. "That shouldn't affect the armour's sensors – or Jarvis, the AI that runs the suit."

"Let us hope you are right."

"We'll soon find out," Tony said, as his own firewalls parted under the assault of his Administrator's fifty digit passwords. "Aha! Jarvis, you there? Deploy the Mark IX prepped and armed to the co-ordinates I'm sending you now."

"Sir, it is good to hear your voice," Jarvis replied. "I deployed the Mark IX the instant the aircraft on which you and Captain Rogers were travelling signed out from Kenyan ATC without giving a destination or being acknowledged. The armour has been unable to locate you."

"Yeah, well, someone's brother stole my watch," he said, glancing towards T'Challa in the hope of seeing a reaction, but the man's face was still hidden from view. "So sorta lost track of time, and other things."

"Sir, my maps and the satellite cameras show nothing but sea and mangrove swamps at those co-ordinates."

"You were saying?" T'Challa commented, withdrawing his head from the access panel. "Technological barriers confirmed down, Stark." 

"It only looks like swamp, Jarvis. You should be good to go with the armour."

"Still unable to locate anything even on the infra-red sensors except the odd crocodile, sir, and no land to speak of. If I go lower, my sensors are blocked by interference."

"Recalibrate."

"I am on my one hundred and thirteenth recalibration, sir. Still tracking two hundred and thirty five crocodiles, fifty one elephants, two thousand and—"

"Enough, Jarvis! I take it there are no humans in this imaginary nature reserve?"

"No, sir."

"Fuck—"

"I was afraid of that," T'Challa said, replacing the access panel. "I will have to petition the Panther god and persuade him to let your armour into Wakanda."

"It would have been better if he hadn't let me and Steve in in the first place," Tony muttered.

"If you and Captain Rogers had agreed to let me take you across our borders then you could be back in New York by now," T'Challa retorted.

"Could we? Or would we have the Hatut Zeraze as well as these invaders of yours on our tails?"

"Possibly," T'Challa admitted, "but then you would not be my responsibility."

"Or your ally. Okay, okay, after we make the rendezvous maybe you can have a chat with your god. And maybe Steve can have a chat with his. I just wish I could have a chat with Thor. At least I know he's real. And not a Morgan Freeman look alike."

T'Challa's expression was a little bemused, and his tone was losing its fight for tolerance. "We need to be ready to leave. Why don't you borrow that mercenary's uniform? And his gun. Pull the hat visor down, put on that pair of sunglasses you've been hanging on to and you might not be immediately recognised."

"Are you going to stick with the White Fang thing? Or go down a few pay grades? That Hatut Zeraze armour looks good."

"The armour I wove into the White Wolf suit for my brother is better," T'Challa replied. "On balance, I think I will stick with it. I may need the authority it gives me – and the fear it generates."

 

Steve watched in admiration as Okoye came tripping – there was no other adequate description Steve could think of but that she was 'tripping lightly' – between the shipping containers. She bounced into the open, stared open-mouthed at the portal, then gasped and scrambled back into cover with every appearance of fear.

The group guarding the portal could not have missed her if they had been asleep on duty. Which they were not. Every gun fell into firing position.

"Hey, you!" The stocky, powerful man whose shoulder bars that seemed to make him the group's leader, called out, striding towards Okoye, who backed away, gasping something in Wakandan. The man grabbed her by the arm. "How did you get here?" he asked roughly, in a voice that held more than a trace of some Eastern European accent.

Her eyes went possibly even wider. "Am-er-can?"

One of the other mercenaries laughed. "Sure, baby, as American as they come. Not."

While their attention was on her – though one mercenary at least was still watching the tunnel entrance – Steve picked up the rock he had selected from the rubble that had been dumped into the ruins of the planting, and then leaped upwards, onto the top of one of the shipping containers, then on to the next.

"How... did... you... get... here?" The leader had taken hold of Okoye's shoulders and was shaking her as she cowered away 

Steve grinned to himself, and hurled the stone, not at the group of men surrounding Okoye, but at the one who was still watching the tunnel. Even before it struck home, he was leaping from the top of the shipping container to land right in the centre of the group of mercenaries.

 

"You should have killed them," Okoye stated, looking down with distaste at the mixture of dead (her own victims) and unconscious (Steve's) scattered about her.

Knowing that his first thrown stone, had, of necessity, probably done just that, Steve shrugged. "This one seems to be the leader." He knelt down and began to search the unconscious man. "I hope he's carrying the portal control. Keep watch for me while I try to figure it out."

"We have a deadline," Okoye reminded him, picking up one of the energy weapons and examining it.

"If I can't find it, we'll lay the explosives. If they don't work we'll have to get Tony or T'Challa," Steve told her.

"That is sensible," Okoye agreed, frowning at the gun in her hands.

Steve left her to it and searched the leader of the mercenaries, finding what seemed to be a communication device pinned to the man's collar; he only hoped no one was trying to call him right now. A small device hooked to his weapons belt seemed more hopeful, with its little infinity symbol and 'look we're making this simple for idiots' on and off switch, and a bright red button with a sliding lock.

But when he pushed unlocked the red button and held it down, nothing happened.

"Fuck," he muttered, keeping it low in case Okoye heard him.

"Fuck indeed," the lady involved said, proving that he had underestimated her hearing. "Captain, this gun will not let me fire it."

"Could be locked to his fingerprints," Steve suggested. "Or even to his genetic code." The Iron Man armour was now locked to Tony's. And maybe this control panel was locked to this guy's.

"Not working," Okoye said, with annoyance, as she pressed one of her victims' fingers on the gun's trigger. Steve was relieved to note the barrel was pointed upwards as she experimented.

All the same, Steve wiped the controller clean of his fingerprints – just in case – then heaved the unconscious body of its nominal owner into a sitting position, propped it against his own knee, and used its right hand to manipulate the controls.

This time, when he unlocked and pressed the red button, the portal flared outwards, in Tesseract-blue. "That," he said, "is why leaving the enemy alive can help. Now, run!" He hauled his prisoner to his feet, grabbed a handful of uniform, and hurled him through the portal.

Not waiting to see what happened, he took to his heels in Okoye's wake. 

 

Tony had just finished donning the mercenary's battle dress when the sound of an explosion shook the research lab, setting the walls and floor trembling and the equipment rattling.

T'Challa glanced at a bank of instruments. "Gamma radiation."

"Which is given off when one of these mini-portals explodes. So it's our diversion." Tony picked up the mercenary's gun and gestured with it towards the door. "Shall we dance?"

For answer, T'Challa pulled the White Wolf mask over his head to cover his face, then, somewhat cautiously, opened the door and stepped out. "No one here," he told Tony. "Come alo—."

His voice was suddenly drowned out by shrieking alarms and, riding on top of the hellish noise, the voice of someone speaking urgently in Wakandan.

That would be the evacuation alarm. Everything was going to T'Challa's plan. With the assurance of a man on his own ground, he set off towards what Tony presumed was the nearest exit.

They were actually outside the building and making their way along a narrow pathway that rounded an ancient baobab tree when they came face to face with the real White Wolf, surrounded by the Hatut Zeraze.

T'Challa leaped straight at his brother, so they tumbled together across the ground, undistinguishable in their identical white costumes.

Tony dropped into a crouch, aiming the captured gun at the nearest group of warriors and pulling the trigger. But the gun failed to fire. Swearing, Tony reached behind him for the gun tucked into his belt – the gun T'Challa had passed to him; White Wolf's gun – even as a Hatut Zeraze warrior loomed over him, spear drawn back. Tony discharged the gun directly in his face.

Behind the falling man, a dozen of the mercenary soldiers, in their green jungle camouflage battledress, rounded the bend in the pathway, their guns already in their hands.

Their leader barked an order.

Tony dived towards the baobab, which would provide decent cover, jinking to the left as he heard the high-pitched whine of the gun firing.

 _Missed!_ was all he had time to think before the edges of the expanding cone of fire caught him and the light and sound greyed out his world.

 

When reality slowly re-emerged, Tony found he was lying on his front, with his wrists bound behind him. He could see very little, though there were several pairs of booted feet, but he could hear T'Challa talking swiftly and volubly in Wakandan.

Tony made a great effort, somehow managed to roll onto his back and into a new silence.

T'Challa, still in the White Wolf suit, but with the mask shoved back and his arms bound to his sides, was standing facing another White Wolf – no, think of him as Hunter, otherwise it was too confusing. One of the foreigners, a leader of some kind to judge by his shoulder patches, was standing between them, looking from one to the other with a dark-blond eyebrow raised.

All three turned to look at Tony. It was Hunter who finally spoke: "My brother pleads for your life, Stark, on the basis that you not taken anything that belongs to Wakanda. But you came here for vibranium."

"I don't need your vibranium – I roll my own," Tony retorted. "I was _invited_ here and I must report that your – it was you, Wolfy, wasn't it? – hospitality wasn't what your envoys promised."

T'Challa looked at his brother with contempt. "Envoys who were not even Wakandans. You involved countries that already fear us when we need them to be allies."

"Including the US," Tony added.

Hunter shrugged. "No one in your country knows that you are here, Stark, and my allies here insist that you came here to aid T'Challa in his quest to destroy all that matters about Wakanda."

"You might wish to reconsider to whom you should ascribe that particular sentiment," T'Challa observed, earning himself a poke in the ribs with a gun barrel by one of the mercenaries flanking him. Hatut Zeraze spears were suddenly lowered, but raised again at a gesture from Hunter.

Dissension in the ranks?

"That hardly matters, brother, I have you exactly where I want you – and I even have a use for Stark."

"Hold it right there," that was the mercenary leader. "What you do with your brother is your affair, but Stark is another matter. The quantum-bridge has been destroyed. The men guarding it are dead or out cold. My lieutenant has vanished. And Stark..." 

"Stark had one of your weapons," White Wolf said slowly, "but, luckily, it didn't fire." There was a suspicious note in his voice that cheered Tony. "On the other hand, T'Challa and Stark were heading in the general direction of the loading bay, not away from it."

"You don't believe someone else—?"

"Captain Rogers is still missing," White Wolf interrupted. "I understand he is far more dangerous than Stark, at least when the latter is stranded without the Iron Man armour. I suggest your men find him and let me deal with Stark."

"My orders are to kill him."

"Then come along and watch."

Tony didn't like the sound of that. But they hadn't captured either Steve or Okoye, and while Steve was free there was hope.

 

Steve and Okoye had been waiting at the rendezvous point for exactly thirty-three minutes now – not that Steve had been checking the time more than once every two minutes, of course. Their orders from T'Challa had been to head back to the jungle house after twenty if he and Tony failed to join them, though neither of them had made any move to leave.

"Something's happened to them," Steve said at last.

"I agree," Okoye said. Then, "Perhaps we should—" Her voice was drowned in a great roar, the sound of an enormous cat that shook the ground under their feet and raised waves on the lake.

Steve looked wildly about him. "What the hell was that?"

"The call that summons the Panther tribe to the temple on their sacred island."

"Who could order that assembly?"

"My Lord – but he refused to do so..."

"White Wolf, then." It wasn't a question. "And with T'Challa and Tony presumably captured, I'll bet everything I've got that they're being taken there too."

"I agree," Okoye said, "but neither of us are members of the Panther tribe, Captain."

Steve dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "How are the tribe going to get to the island? Is there a bridge?"

"No. Those who do not have fliers will sail."

"Can you handle a sail boat? It's not one of my skills."

Okoye smiled. "My people are of the Crocodile Tribe, Captain. So yes. But we will need to steal a boat, and quickly."

"Borrow. And that _is_ one of my skills."

 

The big ground-effect vehicle sped across the surface of the lagoon, raising clouds of spray around its skirts. Tony, tied hand and foot and lying next to a similarly bound T'Challa in the aft cargo space, could see nothing but that spray and the sky blazing blue above it. By their position relative to the sun they were heading South East.

Though he could not see the other occupants of the vehicle he could hear the murmur of their voices, though no words in either English or Wakandan could be distinguished.

Tony wriggled until his head was close to T'Challa's right ear. "Any idea where we're headed?" he whispered.

"The call we heard summons my tribe to the Panther Island," T'Challa replied, his voice close to inaudible though his mouth was less than three inches from Tony's ear. "We are moving in that general direction, though I find it hard to believe that Hunter would make such a mistake."

"Mistake?"

"The Panther god's temple is on that island and the nearer I am to him the more likely he is to listen to me. He can lift the magic that protects Wakanda, and allow your armour in."

Tony gave a fractional nod, making a personal vow never to go anywhere without the armour again. He wished he knew where Steve was and what he was doing, though he and Okoye had plainly completed their task and made their escape. They had been ordered to head for safety and he wished with all his heart that he could believe that Steve was following that order.

Unfortunately, one of the things that his father had been right about when he spoke of Captain America was his inability to follow orders if anyone at all was in danger. And Steve had never forgiven himself for James Barnes' death.

Not that he'd ever mean what Bucky Barnes had to Steve, but that wouldn't stop his friend from coming after him.

 

Steve crouched in the well of the boat, the hood on his stolen robe thrown over his head, as the sailboat bounced across the lake, Okoye at the tiller. He used to feel vaguely seasick even on the ferries, but the serum had taken care of that. What he had not expected was how noisy the craft was, as the bow crashed into the waves that lifted under the rising wind, with the sails slapping and the rigging clattering. Voices called to each other ahead of them.

How far ahead?

"Will we be in time?" he asked Okoye.

"We can, I think, reach the temple before whatever ceremony White Wolf has planned starts. Unless we are caught, of course."

 

T'Challa had stopped talking some time ago, and even Tony had fallen silent in the face of his stubborn silence. Or maybe he was talking to his god... they must be getting close to the island now.

The seemed to be confirmed when Hunter suddenly appeared, the mercenary leader at his back. He said something to T'Challa in Wakandan, and T'Challa roused himself to reply angrily.

Hunter laughed, reached out casually, and brought his closed fist down against the Panther's neck. T'Challa stiffened, then slumped, and though his eyes were still open, his sharp intelligence seemed to have left them.

"What have you done to him?" Tony shouted, wriggling away from both of them.

"Oh, don't worry, Stark." It was the mercenary leader who spoke. "It wouldn't work on you. It's been tailored specially for the Black Panther here. I am assured by White Wolf that your fate will be quite different."

 

Overhead, clouds were beginning to gather and a wind was rising as Okoye let down a sea anchor in the middle of a cluster of boats rocking together in the centre of a lagoon. Many others were drawn up on the beach, where both men and women were still wading ashore, as others streamed along a raised causeway into the jungle.

"Stay down," Okoye ordered. "When I go ashore it will mean that the last of the stragglers have landed on the beach. Wait for three hundred breaths, then follow me. I might pass for a member of the Panther tribe, but you could not even pass for White Wolf himself."

Unfortunately, much as he wanted to race onshore and search for Tony, Steve knew she was talking good sense. He nodded curtly and she scrambled away towards the prow.

 

Okoye was waiting for Steve in the trees. She signalled for him to follow her and they made their way on through the jungle with painful slowness. Eventually Okoye parted a particularly thick clump of undergrowth and before them was a one of the strangest scenes Steve had ever encountered.

At first glance it was like something out of a Rider Haggard novel: the last of the sunlight fell between the clouds to gild the skin of Wakandan warriors, both men and women, gleaming on gold and on their naked shoulders. An array of spearheads glittered, now raised and shaken as the whole crowd shouted in protest or greeting.

Except that the warriors formed only a small part of crowd. Behind their thin line were men in striped robes, white calf-length trousers, or stripped to a loincloth, some covered in mud as if they had just come from the fields, and women in brightly patterned shifts or white culottes, and even a few people in lab coats or western suits. 

Behind this motley crowd rose a massive building made of some black stone, sitting on a podium carved in low relief with stylised big cats – lionesses or leopards – with wide steps rising to a portico where squat, fluted pillars fronted another wall, though the carvings, if there were any, were in shadow. The actual entrance to the temple was through the mouth of a giant snarling stone cat.

An old woman sat halfway down the steps, a small bowl on her knees. She was pounding at something in it with a wooden pestle, ignoring the crowd. She only raised her head for a moment as a group of men climbed the steps past her, headed by T'Challa and White Wolf walking side by side.

The Panther, now dressed in his black suit but with the facemask and hood thrown back, also wore a necklace of what appeared to be lion or leopard – panther? – fangs, laced together on a chain of glowing white metal with a faint purple tint that looked like a vibranium alloy of some kind.

If Steve was relieved to see T'Challa, it was nothing to that he felt when he recognised Tony following in their wake, alive and on his feet, even though his hands were tied behind him and he was being guarded by four members of the Hatut Zeraze.

Behind them walked half a dozen soldiers wearing the same battledress as those they had disposed of back at the research centre.

Spears continued to be rattled, the crowd plainly in an angry mood, judging by the tone of their chanting. At once, Hunter reacted by reaching out to touch T'Challa's arm and speaking to him, though the words were inaudible in the shouting.

T'Challa turned to the crowd and raised his hands, then spoke in a carrying voice that quieted the noise of the assembly to a murmur.

"What's he saying?" Steve asked.

"That the tribe must be patient and that all will be explained."

"What the devil is he playing at?"

"I do not know," Okoye admitted. "Something is very wrong with my Lord. It is almost as if he is possessed."

"We need to get closer. Inside the temple if possible," Steve said, as he watched the party pass between the stone panther's teeth.

"If the crowd sees you it will tear you apart."

Steve ignored that as irrelevant. "Can we get behind the temple? Maybe onto the roof?"

Okoye smiled at him. "Let us find out."

 

It turned out to be astonishingly easy. Plainly, the builders had assumed that fear of the Panther God would be enough to keep intruders at bay. The stone at the rear of the temple was more rough-hewn, heavily weathered and easy to climb. It took them less than a minute to scale it and, crouching low, make their way across the roof, which formed a square around what Steve presumed was an open light well in to the temple.

Suddenly reflections of a blue white arc shone on its polished stone walls and faint voices could be heard below, in the temple itself. A finger to his lips to warn Okoye, he strained to hear the words.

 

"So that is how Klaw got here," Hunter mused as the portal situated at the very feet of the massive – and astonishingly lifelike – statue of a big cat that dominated the interior of the temple flared into life. "And it is why you insisted on coming here with me, North."

"I thought that was to make sure you succeeded where they failed," Tony said. 

Hunter raised an eyebrow at him.

"Killing me. They were too inefficient to do it themselves."

North was unperturbed. "I'm still hoping Rogers will try to rescue you," he replied. "I'm told we have at least four potential buyers for him, or at least his blood."

"I have no time to wait for him to arrive – if he ever does," Hunter said. He took a small case from one of the pouches on his belt and opened it to reveal a syringe filled with a clear liquid. He frowned down at it. "Are you positive this will work, North?"

"That one was effective in neutralising him," North pointed out, nodding towards where T'Challa stood, apparently unaware of his surroundings. "Yours contains the factor carried in the blood of the Chiefs of the Panther tribe that allows them to survive your rituals."

"Rituals?" Tony interrupted, pouring scorn into his voice. "Christ, Virginia, I never expected you to be a Mason. But then, we never shook hands."

"Silence! Or I will have your tongue cut out," Hunter threatened. He was frowning, but not at Tony. "Blood. You people have never had access to T'Challa's. So this has to be—" He took a step towards North. "If you have harmed Shuri—"

North was unperturbed. "Why should you care?"

Hunter actually growled. "She is my sister. Little more than a child."

"Your adopted sister. No, no, Shuri is in France and oblivious to what is happening. Her Professor's research has necessitated the use of fresh human blood. What more natural than his students should contribute to the research materials? Shuri is safe and whether she remains so depends completely on her. She might be wise not to try to come home."

"I cannot prevent her," Hunter said. "She is Wakandan, of the Panther Tribe, and its Chiefs. The magics of the Panther God that conceal and protect Wakanda will not affect her."

"You don't really believe that nonsense, do you?"

"You have not seen what I have seen. Why do you think I needed T'Challa not only biddable but deprived of his ability to speak to the Panther God?" Hunter asked. He drove the point of the syringe into his arm. "How long before it takes effect?"

"No experimental data, obviously. But it takes about a minute for blood to circulate the human body."

"Then let's get on with this." He spoke to the Hatut Zeraze in Wakandan, and Tony found himself hustled outside into the frame of the stone panther's fangs, where Hunter, in the White Wolf suit but with the cowl pushed back, stepped forwards and spoke to the crowd.

 

Steve and Okoye crouched behind the parapet at the corner of the temple roof, hoping that all eyes were on the scene below them. Their view of the area within the panther-head entrance was restricted, but they could hear White Wolf quite clearly. Unfortunately for Steve, he was speaking Wakandan.

"What's he saying?" he asked Okoye.

"That my Lord T'Challa has betrayed the Panther tribe. That the Panther God has summoned Hunter – White Wolf – to eat of the sacred heart-shaped herb – that he will fight T'Challa and take the thro— Steve, he cannot do this. He cannot defeat T'Challa – he has never been able to defeat T'Challa in the past, whenever they... fought in jest... if it ever was jest. Besides, the herb will kill him."

"Maybe that's not really the true herb—"

But Okoye shushed him to silence as White Wolf spoke again.

"He is summoning the... I do not know the English word... the magician who prepares the Heart-Shaped herb."

The woman who had been sitting on the steps rose to her feet and made her way to join White Wolf, carrying her bowl. White Wolf bowed to her. She bowed back, then moved to one side, where a table or bench made of rich red wood and inlaid with what was almost certainly ivory had been placed.

She emptied the bowl onto the surface, and rolled the green mash into a cylinder, and then cut it into three pieces, each far less than a mouthful, then retreated down the steps into the muttering crowd.

A Wakandan woman – an important one to judge by the richness of her robes and the extent of her adornments – pushed her way past the line of warriors and called out a challenge.

"She asks how we can be sure that that is the real Heart-Shaped Herb," Okoye said.

The butt ends of the spear shafts hit the ground in unison with a hollow noise that shook the natural arena and possibly the buildings.

White Wolf spoke again, and this time Okoye drew a sharp breath. "Captain – Steve – he is going to prove the heart-shaped herb's efficacy by showing that T'Challa can ingest it but an outsider cannot. He accuses Mr Stark of blasphemy, of plotting against Wakanda, the Panther Tribe and the Panther God, and of bribing my Lord to allow him to produce artificial vibranium in defiance of the Panther god and against the interests of Wakanda. For this... for this he says that Mr Stark is sentenced to death, and that all this will be proved when he... when he eats the heart-shaped herb... Captain, he will die. And if the outsider's drug works... Hunter will triumph and my Lord will never live to regain his wits." She made a move forward, but Steve held her back. "Wait."

Steve had been running through his tactical options in growing dismay. In seconds he would have no choice but to intervene to save Tony but, with T'Challa incapacitated, he and Okoye had no real chance of doing anything but delaying that death. Furthermore, if he himself were captured or even killed, their enemies would have access not only to the vibranium mines and Wakanda's advanced technology, but to his own serum-enhanced body... 

What they needed was to delay the ceremony long enough for the Iron Man armour to arrive and find Tony, who would then be safe and able, perhaps, to save T'Challa and Wakanda. And for that he also needed the magic that guarded Wakanda to vanish – always hoping that T'Challa dealt with the technological protections. Indeed, if the Panther had still been aware, he could have spoken to his god.

Well, someone needed to speak to the Panther god, and not White Wolf.

Steve took a deep breath, seeing his way clear as Tony was hustled forward towards the bench – altar? He glanced sideways, to the shadow that was Okoye, his expression holding a desperate plea. He saw her eyes blink, once.

A signal. He only hoped it meant what he suspected it did.

He nodded.

She jumped up onto the parapet, then took a flying leap beyond it, into the air, spinning as she fell, and kicking out to knock North's gun aside.

Steve didn't see what happened next for he was running back across the roof to leap into the light well. He landed between the paws of an all too lifelike statue of a giant panther. He paused a moment to catch his breath , then spun and raced towards the light, to the temple entrance, where he could see Okoye struggling with the soldiers while the Hatut Zeraze were split between guarding Tony and Hunter. She had, he hoped, drawn their attention for just long enough.

He threw himself through the panther's jaws, knocking Hunter and his guards to one side, and lunged for the altar.

_I'm so sorry, Tony._

He snatched up the three little cakes of heart-shaped herb, and thrust them into his own mouth.

"No! Steve, no!"

And that was Tony, only just making himself heard over the screams, shouts and warning cries from the crowd.

Steve swallowed.

He hoped it would take time to take effect, that the serum might have made him immune to its effects, though at the same time he was hoping that those effects would contaminate his blood, his genes, his cells so much they would not be of use to anyone, but it burned his throat, his stomach, then ran tingling down his nerves and thrust spikes into his head.

Gritting his teeth, he turned on his heel and headed back into the temple itself, stumbling, moving by will power alone. Beneath the statue of the Panther, his legs failed him, and he collapsed on the cool stone.

Through the dreadful pain, it seemed to Steve that as blackness drew a blind over his sight, fierce eyes, green and gold with slitted black pupils, stared down into his own. Hot breath seared his skin.

"Help us," Steve whispered.

"I cannot." It was a soft growl, sexless, powerful, not in the least human. "You are not of the priestly house, not of the Panther tribe, not of Wakanda."

"T'Challa is."

"T'Challa is chosen. My high priest."

"He is going to die if you don't help him.""

"Then he will die. I have gifted all I can to him."

"Wakanda will fall. Your temple will be destroyed." Steve forced himself to breathe, to keep breathing through the pain and the paralysis. "He... you... can be saved. Rescue... waiting... beyond... your magic. Lower... your protections. Open... Wakanda..."

There was another voice, further, much further away. "Is he still alive?"

"Can't find a pulse. Guess that serum's not so hot after all."

"I will not leave myself undefended," the strange voice rumbled, drowning those others so far away. "Those I fled from long ago will see me, even here, where I have made myself this sanctuary. When I came to this world, with my fellows, we ruled a great land, one of the greatest, but then we learned there were more powerful beings protecting this world and others. We were arrogant enough to defy them... and Asgard defeated us. They still watch. Only the magics turn aside the all-seeing golden-eyed one."

Asgard.

Steve gathered what little will he had left for one final effort. "Asgard... cannot... come... rainbow bridge... broken." He as pretty sure he did not say the words, that his lungs were blocked, his throat seared and frozen, his heart no longer beating. "Dissolve... magic... otherwise... we're both dead."

"You already are."

Then pain overwhelmed him, and he was once again sinking into cold and darkness.

 

Tony struggled against his bonds, concentrating his anger on the restrictions, because he dared not, even for a moment, look towards Steve's motionless body lying beneath the paws of the statue of the Panther god. If he did, grief might overwhelm the anger and he would lose not just Steve, but the future of the world.

That had to matter more. Had to.

At a signal from North, one of the soldiers had walked over to Steve and kicked him in the ribs. But it was Tony who had given a choked-off cry; there had been no reaction from Steve even as his body had rolled a couple of feet by the impact.

Tony's eyes were burning with unshed tears.

"Is he still alive?" North asked.

The soldier bent over Steve and laid fingers on his neck. After about thirty seconds, he announced, "Can't find a pulse. Guess that serum's not so hot after all."

"Leave him. We still have to deal with the Panther, our audience – and Stark."

"Fuck it, the boss is going to blow his stack. He has customers for this guy."

"We'll take the body with us. It might still be of use."

"Then take it," Hunter snapped. "As part of your payment." He stepped forwards to the front of the steps and addressed the muttering crowd in Wakandan.

Tony could not tell how they were reacting, because the world had darkened as the afternoon rainclouds were circling above on a rising wind. It didn't look... natural. Maybe the Panther god was getting annoyed and about time. Well, if the rain came it would calm them soon enough.

Which wasn't what he wanted at all. He gritted his teeth and squirmed even harder against his bonds, glaring at where T'Challa was standing. Something about his eyes told Tony he was aware... but of what? Of the fact that he was helpless? That he was aiding his enemies? That Steve—

A torpedo-shaped bolt of red and gold screamed across the heads of the crowd, bright against the growing darkness. The crowd stopped listening to White Wolf; those beneath it fell to the earth, while the rest scattered towards the jungle.

Hunter was yelling something in Wakandan, and the Hatut Zeraze responded so the air was filled with arrows and spears, which Jarvis, who was certainly running the suit, ignored. The explosions wouldn't even dent the armour, but those tipped with vibranium steel...

"Jarvis!" Tony yelled, as rain hissed down in waves across the natural amphitheatre, bouncing from stone and skin. "Watch out!"

Then North was beside him. "Call it off!" he snarled, and Tony felt the burn of the knife blade against his throat. "Call—" There was an electronic crackle and both knife and men fell away. Something, an insect maybe, though it seemed heavier than that – but, hey, Africa! – landed on Tony's wrist. He attempted to shake it off, but his movement was too restricted. Fuck it, it was probably going to bite—

The roar was louder than both the downpour and the thunder.

Even before he saw something huge and green and all too familiar bulldozing through the rain and the remains of the crowd.

"Bruce!" he shouted, even as a thrown Hatut Zeraze warrior whizzed past his ear. "Bruce, don't—"

The Hulk turned to look at him, and the expression on his face chilled Tony colder than the rain. There was no intelligence in that look, no recognition, only pure rage.

He'll kill me, Tony thought, and wondered why he did not feel afraid.

But, as he continued to struggle, the bonds holding his wrists suddenly gave way.

"Jarvis" he shouted again, snatching up North's knife and severing the ropes around his ankles. As the armour came rocketing towards him, he spread his arms and it enfolded him like a lover.

 

And, even as he raised his hands to fire the repulsors, he realised that the Hulk had paused, was looking into the depths of the temple, where something blue-white and hideously familiar was flaring.

And two of the mercenaries were dragging Steve's body towards it.

"Sir, there is an unknown and dangerous force building—" Jarvis began. Then the clouds exploded into a dark tunnel laced with rainbows.

Tony took an involuntary step backwards.

And almost tripped over Janet Van Dyne, dressed in a skintight suit of black and yellow, the electronic weapons he had built for her crackling at her wrists.

And the Hulk leaped, not at Tony and Jan, but into the temple. The two men dropped Steve and ran towards the blue light.

"Tony, go. We've got this," Jan ordered.

Tony took to the air, rocketing after them, hand repulsors firing. He was too late. The two mercenaries leaped into the portal but the Hulk was at their heels.

"Hulk, stop!" Iron Man's amplified voice bellowed.

It was not enough. Even as he turned towards the portal to follow, it exploded. The shock wave smashed into Iron Man and hurled him straight into one of the portico pillars.

When Tony picked himself up, he found that the temple was empty of life. Only the statue of the Panther god stood untouched, eyes glowing amber in the dust-filled air, their light falling on the bodies strewn across the crazed marble floor.

Tony's breath caught in his throat. Then he spotted Steve sprawled close to the statue, where the portal – and the centre of the explosion – had been.

He didn't remember running or flying, but somehow he was kneeling at Steve's side, with the Iron Man's faceplate opened and his gauntlets lying on the floor beside him.

Steve's eyes were closed, and when Tony lifted an eyelid, the eye inside stared sightlessly back at him. He felt desperately for a pulse, but there was no movement under his fingers.

He could no longer hold back tears as grief overwhelmed him. He pulled Steve's body into his arms and dropped his lips to the cool forehead where a gash from cheek to hairline showed only faint traces of blood.

"No, please. No. Not for me. Fuck you. Fuck, fuck, fuck... not again..." 

"What makes this chaos?" the familiar voice boomed through the temple.

Thor? But...

"Bast? If that is still your name? What do you do here? Have you hidden this little kingdom since before my birth?"

Tony heard nothing, but Thor plainly did, for after a short pause he continued, "That does not matter to me. If the Allfather did not choose to pursue you then, I doubt he will do so now. But you may have to answer to me..." The voice was very close now.

A hand fell on Tony's shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make the armour creak. "Does our comrade yet live, my friend?"

Unable to speak, Tony shook his head.

Thor reached over Tony's shoulder and placed a hand on Steve's forehead, then moved it to cover his heart. "What evil caused this?"

Tony draw in a deep breath. Not looking at Thor, he said: "He... swallowed some sort of fucking magic potion..." He heard the break in his own voice and tried desperately to steady it. "He s-sacrificed himself..." For me. Because part of that herb was meant for me. Oh, Christ...

"Magic?" Thor asked.

Tony shook his head. "What the fuck is magic, anyway?" he snarled.

"Science that you do not yet understand," Thor told him, but it was plain he was not paying attention. He frowned down at Steve's body, though Tony could have sworn he was not really seeing it, his expression confused, conflicted.

"Yeah, yeah, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," Tony growled. "And they both kill—"

"Stark," Thor's expression had cleared, become determined, his voice now suffused with urgency. "Let me take him. I promise nothing, but if a spark of life remains, we must take the chance."

Tony had no more words. He simply used the strength of the armour to lift Steve and give him over to Thor. Steve looked almost small in the Asgardian's arms, and Tony thought for a moment about snatching him back. Before the thought was even fully formed, though, Thor was running out of the temple. Beneath the roiling skies, a strange symbol had formed on the bare earth where the crowd had stood only minutes before.

Thor skidded to a halt at its heart, shouting for something or someone called 'Heimdall'.

The spectral funnel built again. Then, in an explosion of rainbow light, it vanished, Thor – and Steve – along with it. The rain, though, was still falling, bouncing from the Iron Man armour, erasing the strange sigil in its flood, and washing the tears from Tony's cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise profusely for the time this has taken to update. The plot of this chapter proved... er.. evasive.


	16. Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the devastating events at Panther God's temple, there are still enemies for Tony to face, some of them unexpected...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, please note that the warnings are correct and complete.

The clearing was silent, save for the clatter of rain on stone and the plosh of feet splashing through mud as the stragglers from the crowd fled.

Something black and yellow and insect-sized buzzed in front of the newly closed faceplate, raised a very human hand, and waved at Tony, before landing on Iron Man's shoulder.

Tiny Jan's voice – helpfully amplified by Jarvis – said, "Tony, was that...?"

"Thor," Tony replied, from behind the faceplate, thanking the God he didn't believe in for the distorted voice of Iron Man.

"Steve?" Jan asked.

"Dead. Thor didn't want to believe it either, so..." He should not have let the Asgardian take Steve's body, but, just for the moment, in Thor's presence, there had been a tiny thread of hope.

It was gone now, and a world without Steve was dull and grey and didn't matter very much. Tony knew he was in shock and that, sooner or later, he would lose this detachment, this clarity of thought, but he wished the numbness could go on forever...

There was a flutter of wings. Jan appeared, full sized, in front of him, and he could not tell if her face was running with rain or tears. A small hand fell on the armour's arm. "Oh, Tony, I'm sorry. We all liked him so much. The Hulk?"

"Missing in action."

"Bother." The milder Jan's expletives, the more strongly she was feeling. She looked down at herself and winced. "Hank needs to make some changes to this fabric," she said flippantly. "The rain's turning the yellow bits of this costume transparent. Don't suppose you're going to be a gentleman and lend me your metal suit."

"You'd rattle like a forty-year old Trabant*," Tony replied. He was only just beginning to realise how strange her presence here was. The delay was another effect of shock, he decided, surprised that he was still functioning in anything resembling a vaguely normal fashion. He couldn't even guess at what Jan's costume was made of, but if Hank could not only master the art of shrinking humans and had somehow got Jan to grow wings during the process, then the material was likely to have some amazing properties.

Hank.

"Jan, is Hank here?"

"Yeah. We'd never have located you without the help of the ants." 

_Ants. Yeah, right, ants._

"Well, where is he?"

Jan shrugged. "No idea. The Hulk carried him in and he could have bailed out anywhere en route. I came courtesy of Jarvis and the Iron Man suit. Hank doesn't want to 'play superhero,'" she added inconsequentially.

Always supposing Hank had bailed out at all. If not, then both he and Bruce had been transported to who-knew-where, but certainly into the midst of a technologically high-powered enemy.

"What do we do now?" Jan asked.

From the past he heard an equally calm voice, in another emotion-fraught moment, say, "...And get this done."

"What we have to," he said grimly.

"Sir, we have visitors, possibly hostile," Jarvis said, showing an infrared scan on the head-up display. A couple of dozen men and women were lurking in the skirts of the jungle. Occasionally a breakaway group would make a little sortie out of the trees, but then would take one look at the Iron Man and retreat.

_Hatut Zeraze?_

"Where's White Wolf?" he asked, looking around him.

Jan regarded him with her head on one side. "The man in the silly white suit?"

"Yeah. Cape, shoulder pads, dog face and all."

Jan shuddered elaborately. "So eighties, darling. Cutie over there took him down." She nodded to where Okoye was crouched beside T'Challa, who was sitting on the steps of the temple." She was speaking urgently to him in Wakandan but he did not seem to hear her.

Still drugged.

So it was possibly just himself and Jan left in the game, three if they could count on Okoye. 

They needed allies. The people lurking in the jungle didn't act like warriors; they acted like people who wanted to help, but were scared of the Iron Man armour. He could hardly blame them for being scared of something designed to be scary.

Maybe he should invite them in.

Tony waited for the next group to approach, and then beckoned them forward. Only one broke ranks in the rush back into the jungle – a middle-aged woman, short and portly, her hair elaborately dressed – and she ignored him and ran towards T'Challa.

Okoye rose to face her and they began what looked like an angry conversation. Tony activated the boot thrusters as Jan shrank to insect-size, hovering on the dragonfly wings that had sprouted from her shoulders in the process.

As Tony jetted towards the temple steps, Okoye broke off her argument with the woman to turn and face him, holding up a hand and saying, "Do nothing, Stark. This is one of our greatest Healers; T'Challa's personal physician, skilled in both your medicine and our traditions."

"She doesn't speak English?"

"No, but her Japanese is very good."

"Mine isn't," Tony pointed out.

"Hank's is fair," Jan said. "He's around somewhere. Dr Henry Pym, possibly the world's greatest biochemist – maybe he can help."

The healer spoke quickly in Wakandan.

"She has heard of this Henry Pym," Okoye said, "and would be grateful for his assistance."

Jan was grinning behind her hand. "I'll let him know that."

"They'll need lab space," Tony said, "and medical facilities."

"Yes." Okoye had also, plainly, pulled herself together. "Captain Rogers and I came by sail boat. How did your party arrive?"

"A ground effect vehicle. It's parked at the side of the temple – that side. Do you want me to check it out?"

"No, I can... what is the term?... warm wrench it? If I have to."

"Hot wire it," Jan said.

"We can use it to get my lord to safety, and—" Okoye broke off as Hank Pym, clad in a pair of red coveralls, with the helmet Tony had built for him masking his face and blond head – for which Tony was pathetically grateful – appeared at her side.

Instantly, the medic broke into a voluble flow of Japanese, to which Hank responded cautiously.

As they had been talking, more Wakandans began to emerge from the shadows, though Hank's appearance had once again sent them into retreat. Okoye waved and called out to them in Wakandan, though this innocent gesture seemed to cause intense confusion.

"You don't need me here," Tony decided. "I have to tie up some loose ends. Firstly, I need to find and close this other portal you thought had been installed on the 'sacred mountain'."

Okoye stared at him in surprise. "I had almost forgotten. Yes, you should go, and quickly. It will be at the vibranium mine – for all we know they are stealing our wealth even as we stand here."

 _And it's the last gateway to my enemies – and Bruce._

Tony rose into the air, weapons clicking into place.

"Stark, wait! Do you even know where the sacred mountain is?"

"Sure I do."

"The doors to the mine are vibranium-steel and you will not be able to break in—"

Behind the faceplate, Tony's smile was grim. "I won't need to, thanks to T'Challa." He triggered the boot jets and flashed westward and southward. Not that he'd any intention of destroying the portal, or, at least, not until he'd seen what lay on the other side.

 

Iron Man was flying a few feet above the jungle canopy with the south-western mountain range and the outlier mountain that was his destination rising into view when Jarvis said, "We have a passenger, sir."

Tony groaned to himself and slowed noticeably. "Jan? Or Hank?"

"Ms Van Dyne, sir."

"And you didn't think to tell me until now?"

Jarvis made no reply.

"Outside mike on, Jarvis. Jan, where are you hanging on?"

Jan's response was immediate. "There's this nice little series of dips in your shoulder plate that sort of appeared when I landed on them."

_Steve's handholds._

_Oh, Christ, Steve..._

_Don't think about that now._

And there was the 'sacred' mountain, right where he remembered it. He'd memorised their path from T'Challa's secret cave when they'd left, less than two days ago. It seemed like a lifetime.

For Steve it had been.

A white road zigzagged up the eastern face of the mountain.

"The doors to the mine are indeed closed," Jarvis said. "Unable to analyse their composition. Do you wish me to deploy missiles?"

"Nope. Let's try the back door first." Tony banked towards the sheer crags on the southern face of the mountain. And there was the outcrop that looked like a crouching bat, wings folded, and, above it, three twisted trees.

Go left, and you could fall straight into the crevasse.

He did so.

"Wow!" Jan said, as the walls slid past. "This is better than riding Kingda Ka**. How did you know it was here?"

"T'Challa—" _T'Challa brought us here. We sat together and talked, him and me and Steve..._

"Jarvis," he said, "use the ultraband radar to build a map of the caves and passages in the mountain. And map any gamma radiation hotspots onto it."

He was damn sure that when T'Challa had left them alone and headed off into the mountain to 'meditate' he had been spying on their enemies... or looking for a way to do so.

A schematic appeared on the HUD.

"Well, Jay, would ya look at that. Here we go! Hang tight, Jan."

 

It was not a straightforward journey – perhaps it might have been for someone as strong and lithe as T'Challa, but the Iron Man armour was bulky and not particularly manoeuvrable in confined spaces. Tony, however, was in no mood to follow the cavers' code to 'leave nothing but footprints.' Deploying lasers and repulsors, the strength of the amour and an occasional explosive, he opened up the narrow passageways cut by the ancient miners, broke down walls and, on occasion, cut shortcuts through solid rock.

Finally, they saw a sliver of light ahead. It proved to be a crack in the rock that even a full sized Jan could have passed through easily, and the Panther could probably have wriggled through with some effort. It was certainly large enough to allow them a perfect view of the large floodlit cavern beyond.

The inside of the metal doors gleamed bright at one end, while extensive living accommodation had been laid out at the other. What was presumably mining equipment took up a considerable area, as did a second – and even less salubrious – living area surrounded by a roof-high chain-link fence, though the gates to that stood wide.

Four small metal crates lay close to the portal, which was only just visible as a blue-white shimmer in the air, barely brighter than the artificial light.

A group of men in the all-too-familiar battledress were clustered about what looked like a field kitchen. Whether sitting or standing, they had the air of men who had nothing much to do or to think about, with the exception of drinking coffee or gossiping.

That gossip might, in itself, be interesting...

"I can get down there unnoticed, no problem," Jan said, reading Tony's thoughts with the ease of someone who'd known him longer than anyone now living.

 _No! I've lost too many people today_ was Tony's instinctive reaction, but he knew Jan just as well as she knew him; too well to say that aloud.

He could hear Steve chiding him that they needed a plan before action – and that to make a plan you needed intelligence.

"Sir, perhaps Ms Van Dyne can carry one of our bugs close to the enemy without being seen."

"Great idea, Jarvis," Jan said.

"A bug on a bug," Tony said, trying for a lightness he was far from feeling.

"I am not a bug," Jan protested.

"You bug everyone. What are you, then, a busy bee?"

"Bees can only sting once before they die. If I'm anything, I'm a wasp. Probably _Vespidae_. I'm pretty social. Pretty too. And useful. And a woman, and only female wasps sting."

"Not a hornet? Or yellowjacket?"

"Nah. Single syllable. Sharp. Descriptive. Female. Flies. Stings. I'll take it."

They were wasting time. And would be until Jan wore him down. Short answer: forget the argument. "Okay, Wasp, get your ass and our listening device down there. Make damn sure you stay out of sight."

"Got it, boss!" Seconds later, Jan was gone in a whir of wings.

Below, the portal suddenly flared into blinding readiness.

"Jan, if anyone tries to go through the portal, stop them!" Tony ordered, preparing to blow a hole in the rock wall.

But, in fact, a woman appeared through the portal and strode towards the battlesuited men. The ones who had been seated leaped to their feet and the whole group stiffened to attention.

It became immediately obvious that Jan was indeed close enough for the bug to pick up their conversation. 

"Where's the vibranium?" That was the woman.

"What vibranium? The only guys who can mine safely it are the locals, and they've bolted. We don't even know how to operate their equipment. It's like nothing we've ever seen before."

"I thought your workforce was locked in here."

"So did we but somehow, two nights ago, they just... disappeared. So did four of our guys."

So that was what T'Challa had been doing when he'd left Steve and him alone in the hidden base, Tony realised. He'd played that one close to his chest. Not that Tony blamed him.

How come he'd missed the portal? Was it really that difficult to see? Or hadn't they activated it until after their local workforce had vanished?

"We notified the Colonel an' he's supposed to be bringing in a replacement workforce," one of the men offered.

"We think Colonel North is down," the woman replied. "Apparently Iron Man is loose somewhere in Wakanda, and we've just had to deal with a Hulk incursion. This is now the only working quantum-bridge we have here. My orders are to snag as much vibranium as we can, hide the quantum-bridge generator and evacuate. We'll be back, never fear. Now, do we have any vibranium at all?"

"Only what's in those crates."

"Then let's move it."

"Wasp," Tony said. "Delay them. I'm on my way. Jarvis, the wall. Remove it."

"Yes, sir." Even as Jarvis acknowledged Tony's order a bright speck of repulsor energy flew from the weapons battery in Iron Man's shoulder. It hit the rock and exploded.

Instantly, Iron Man was barrelling forward, his shields brushing away both the shock wave and stone shards.

Two of the men were struggling to shift one of the small crates towards the portal, but were staggering under the impact of the Wasp's stingers.

Someone yelled a warning as they spotted Iron Man, but by then he was on them, repulsors blazing at full power, his anger making him ruthless.

He needed to take out every single one of them before he flew through the portal and was well on his way to achieving that when the newly-arrived woman managed to snatch out her gun as she dived for cover.

But Jan had spotted her and was on her in an instant, blasting her with the full force of her stingers, even as the woman aimed at Iron Man.

The gun jerked to the side, screeching as it fired.

The beam hit the doors, filling the cavern was filled with thunderous noise, everything except the doors themselves shaking as if in an earthquake, throwing down an avalanche of stone from roof and walls.

"Shields to maxim—" Tony yelled at Jarvis before being silenced as Iron Man was tossed aside by the storm of falling rock, which battered him to the floor, burying him beneath its weight, leaving Tony bruised and gasping.

Once the noise had died away, Iron Man shrugged away the rocks and staggered into the dust-filled air.

The floodlights were out. The only illumination was provided by the arc-reactor-powered light in his chest plate and that did not even reach to the edges of the cave.

There was no movement, no light from the portal, no sign of any of the installations, though, as there was no daylight, the doors were must be intact.

There was also no sign of the Wasp.

Hank was going to murder him. Not that he wouldn't deserve it, but he still had far too much to do...

"Jan?" The distorted Iron Man voice echoed about the cave, somehow making the ensuing silence far worse. A patter from still-falling pebbles made him jump. "Jan!"

Still nothing.

Then tiny wings glittered in his circle of light and, seconds later, Jan was kneeling on the palm of his hand, oblivious of the softly glowing repulsor.

Now Tony could hear her coughing. She had plainly lost both the bug and contact with Jarvis.

"You okay, kid?" he asked her.

"I'm afraid this costume is ruined. Still, gives me a chance to re-design it."

"Fuck the fucking suit! Are you all right?"

"I wonder if anyone else survived?" she added with false brightness, at exactly the same moment.

"Jan!"

"Sir, I believe Ms Van Dyne—"

"There's just one thing," Jan went on, apparently oblivious, though her voice was horribly strained and getting louder and louder as she spoke. "I... I can't hear anything."

"—has been made... temporarily... deaf," Jarvis finished.

The hesitation over the choice of that word was hideously telling. "Shit! What else can go wrong today? Don't answer that!"

"Of course not, sir. I assume all such questions are rhetorical."

Tony looked around for a place of safety, then held out his hand and pointed with a gauntleted finger to a flat rock standing proud of the rubble. Jan climbed painfully to her feet, and stepped onto it. One he was sure he still had her attention; he pointed to her wings and turned the helmet slowly from side to side.

"You want me to stay here?"

This time she got a nod and a thumbs up. "Okay," she said wearily. "Come back soon." It didn't sound like Jan at all and Tony didn't think he'd ever seen her slump as she did now, holding her head in her hands.

"Right, Jarvis, let's find out what the damage is, and sharp about it."

 

Jarvis's scans provided the location of slowly cooling bodies but no sign of actual endothermic life, other than themselves. If there had been any bats here, they had probably decided to be elsewhere, probably in advance of the human invasion of their territory. Though the lack of guano made it unlikely there had ever been any at all.

There was no sign of the portal; gritting his teeth, Tony blasted away several feet of rock and found nothing.

Damn it, Steve had died to save him. The least he could do in his friend's memory was rescue Bruce.

Except that he couldn't, couldn't have done so anyway, with Jan injured, and with the certainty she would have insisted on coming with him – and right now he couldn't even argue with her.

Once he was sure the mine was secure, with its great doors still intact, indeed, untouched, he could turn his attention back to Jan who now – oh, fuck – who was now full sized again and wingless, curled around the rock on which he had placed her for safety.

She seemed hardly conscious as he gathered her into Iron Man's arms and allowed Jarvis to steer their path back through the mountain and into the evening. Once outside, Tony turned away from the falling sun towards the rising moon, almost as bright against a navy blue sky.

Though he knew the location of the 'Golden City', as T'Challa had called it, that was too large (and possibly still too dangerous) for him to hope to find help there. He would, he calculated, have a better chance at the 'research centre'.

Below him, the jungle was coming to noisy life as evening darkened about him. It was a primeval landscape, empty of technology and human life...

But ahead, towers were rising from the horizon, glowing with golden light.

As he approached the research centre, a craft similar to the one T'Challa had used to rescue him and Steve from White Wolf's clutches rose to meet them, its lights blazing in the new darkness.

The driver, who addressed him in English and by name, had been sent by Okoye to wait for him. Instantly, however, on hearing Tony's rapid explanation of Jan's plight, he put aside whatever message he had for Iron Man, and led him swiftly to the same highly guarded medical centre where Hank was working with Wakandan medics to restore T'Challa's mental capacities.

It was a relief to hand Jan over to the medics, and to leave the explanations to the Wakandan speakers. Though he didn't believe the assurances that Jan "would be healthy", he knew there was nothing he himself could do for her. And the messenger was insisting that he follow.

 

Their destination was a palatial apartment where a tired and plainly worried Okoye was waiting for him. Her first words were to the point: "The portal?"

"Closed," Tony replied, opening the faceplate of the armour. "The mercenaries guarding it are dead, though you have a massive clean-up in prospect at the mine. Between one of their guns and the vibranium-steel doors the roof didn't stand a chance. That also took out the mechanism generating this side of the portal."

"You were lucky. There may be no other way to shut it down without a controller," Okoye said, "and even if you'd found one it would not have worked for you. Captain Rogers thought it was keyed to the holder's fingerprints or DNA. Their guns are the same. And they don't work for the dead."

"Oh, great. Well, that's good to know. Now. So we won't have to worry about zombies and vampires shooting at us." Sarcasm dripped from the words.

Okoye's response was equally sharp. "If you had waited a few more seconds at the Panther God's temple I would have briefed you on that."

"But then I wouldn't have been in time at the mine. They were about to leave, with some vibranium, at least, leaving the portal generator hidden. They can't get back here right now, but as to where they've gone and who's behind this, we need to question your prisoners. They're our only lead."

Okoye's grimaced. "That was also my thought. But I when went to question them, each one lay dead in his cell."

"Goddamn," Tony said. "Treason among your guards? Suicide pills? Didn't you search them?"

"Of course we did. And found nothing. Nor, from the expressions on their faces, were they expecting it." She was frowning. "And if it was treachery, that implies conspiracy, and I do not believe that is feasible. No one could have planned for this."

Tony was inclined to agree with her. "The odds are against it. What about White Wolf?"

"Still alive. He's under constant guard by my sisters of the Dora Milaje – who still do not entirely believe that T'Challa gave me permission to speak in a language other than Hausa and to non-Wakandans at all. It has not gone down well with the Council either. Luckily, they don't know about Pym."

"The Hatut Zeraze?"

"They are well trained and loyal to White Wolf. They may try to break him loose."

"Looks like they're my next job, then."

"Our next job." Okoye gave a small, dangerous smile. "Let's go and clear out the hyenas' lair."

 

The 'hyenas' lair' turned out to be the so-called 'government compound' in which he and Steve had been imprisoned and to which a number of the Hatut Zeraze had retreated. He, Okoye and her picked team swept through it like a storm.

The cell where Tony and Steve had been held turned out merely to be the most palatial of many. Below the main building was what could only be described as a high tech dungeon, packed to overflowing with those loyal to T'Challa.

There was a (very) short attempt to use the prisoners as hostages, but Iron Man blasted into the cells, and guarded the prisoners as they made their escape.

Once the building and those Hatut Zeraze who remained alive were secure, Okoye returned to the Golden City, hoping for better news of T'Challa. A number of the prisoners accompanied her, but her team – plus those prisoners who were not only fit to fight but determined to do so – were assigned to Tony, whether as allies, bodyguards or to keep him on a short leash he wasn't sure. Using captured vehicles, they spread out to look for more of the enemy, while Iron Man took to the air, Jarvis hunting heat-signatures through the jungle.

 

Tony was beginning to believe that any Hatut Zeraze left had managed to escape Wakanda; which was just as well, as only his repulsor-based weapons were usable, the rest being out of ammo. If he couldn't find any more targets he might even have to return to the city or the research centre, and right now he just wanted to keep shooting things.

Then Jarvis alerted him to what appeared to be a firefight close to the borders. Gleefully passing this intelligence to the small group of warriors who had been accompanying him and signalling them to follow, he sped towards the battle.

It was only when he reached it that he found that his Wakandan allies were not fighting the Hatut Zeraze or even invading mercenaries; instead, they were engaged in a ferocious battle with a black clad team of SHIELD agents.

What the fuck? Where the hell had they come from? And how had they gotten through the tech and magic that guarded Wakanda?

One of whom, presumably the team leader, waved at him frantically. "Iron Man! Help us!"

Tony needed to make it clear, and quickly, which side he was on. For a few moments he hesitated, unwilling, even now, to move against SHIELD. But there were both American and Wakandan lives to be saved and SHIELD had no place here.

Mind made up, he came falling from the sky, his full array of weapons clattering into view. It didn't matter that most of them were no longer functional because the SHIELD agents certainly didn't know that. 

"Agents, put down your weapons and surrender – now!" The amplified Iron Man voice boomed out, echoing in the jungle. "You've invaded a foreign country and they don't like strangers here."

Behind him, he could hear someone yelling in Wakandan.

The firing stopped, though neither side made any move to lay down their arms.

"And you're not a stranger here?" the agents' leader, a tall, Asian woman, demanded. She, at least, was not intimidated. "Whose side are you on?"

"Right and justice and international law," Tony retorted. "And I was invited in." He carefully neglected to mention by whom. "Right now I'm trying to save your lives and stave off an international incident. So put down your fucking weapons because you would be outnumbered and outgunned even if I weren't here. Put them down, fuck it, if you don't want to die, because otherwise I can't save you."

The rest of his team was now arriving; circling behind the SHIELD agents, to the latter's considerable alarm. One vehicle, however, floated in between Tony and the Wakandans.

Tony's suspicions as to who was in that vehicle were confirmed when a question, originally in what was presumably Wakandan, arrived, in Italian, in the measured tones of his assigned interpreter. _"You know these warriors?"_

_"They're agents of SHIELD,"_ Tony replied, in the same language. _"It's an international security organisation with delusions of grandeur. I was a consultant with them for a while, until their political masters decided to nuke Manhattan. This group of agents must have gotten in during the period the Panther god wasn't sustaining his protective spells."_

One or two of the agents gave him very suspicious looks indeed at that statement; they probably spoke Italian, and had much the same attitude to magic as Tony did himself. Or they had believed the WSC's propaganda about that nuke.

When the reply came back from the Wakandan squad leader it was short and to the point. _"You are to tell them that they are our prisoners."_

 _"If you want their surrender then hold your damn fire!"_ Tony shot back. To the SHIELD agents he said, "You have a choice between putting down your weapons and surrendering to the Wakandan authorities or dying here and now. I'd make it fast if I were you."

Slowly, the woman who had challenged him laid her gun on the ground and, one by one, the other SHIELD agents followed her lead. The Wakandans moved in to collect their weapons, and Tony's interpreter steered his vehicle in close and spoke quietly. _"You are asked for guidance as to what to do with these people."_

Tony thought quickly. _"King T'Challa will decide that. Until then, I suggest you reveal as little about yourselves as possible. You also have a newly vacated prison in which to hold them."_

His interpreter gave a small laugh. _"So we do,"_ and spoke to the Wakandan leader, who gave a nod of appreciation in Tony's direction.

"Stark! What's happening?" the agent's leader demanded.

"You're being taken prisoner. What else? I have other things to do than hold your hands." Iron Man turned away and flew back towards Hatut Zeraze compound, to warn the occupying force to patch it together for the new arrivals.

 

When he finally returned to the settlements on the coast to report to Okoye, he had hoped to find her in the same apartments. She wasn't there, but she had plainly realised that that was where he would try to find her, for she had left the young man who spoke good English waiting for him to take any message he thought she needed to consider urgently. Tony briefed him on how many of the Hatut Zeraze had been neutralised and about the captured SHIELD agents, then went to check on Jan.

 

He had anticipated that he would run into language difficulties or, even worse, a security cordon that excluded him at the research centre but, though no one seemed to speak more than an odd word of any language he knew, he was greeted with obvious respect, and led quickly through the building.

They ushered him through a door, and then retreated. 

Jan, clad in what looked like loose cotton pyjamas, was sitting cross-legged on a low bed covered haphazardly with brightly striped blankets. Now she leaped to her feet and flung her arms around him, ignoring the fact that she was hugging a suit of armour, whose presence Tony also regretted.

"I'm so glad to see you, Tin Man. Are you all right? Tap once for yes and twice for no."

All right? Well, he was unhurt.

Obligingly, he tapped her gently between the shoulder blades with a metal finger, opened the faceplate, stepped back, and pointed at Jan, then raised an eyebrow.

"Me? I'm fine, or I will be. The medics here are amazing and so are their painkillers! They're – the medics, not the painkillers – are using bioengineered bacteria to repair my eardrums and cochlear nerve. According to them I'll be one hundred per cent again in twenty-four hours. Meanwhile," she added, reaching for a faceted sphere lying on a carved wooden table. "I just need to switch this on and you'll be able to talk to me. Better get that helmet off first, though," she added, reaching up to grip it firmly in both hands. "It may interfere with the function."

"Jarvis, unlock the helmet," Tony ordered, but Jan was already lifting it away.

Her face was grave as she said, "Tony, darling, you look dreadful. How long is it since you slept?"

"Only about twenty-fo—" Tony broke off as, to his astonishment, a reversed version of those words appeared in the air in front of him. From Jan's viewpoint, though, they would be perfectly readable. "Fascinating," he said, in his best imitation of Spock, running a finger through the letters as they hung in the air and leaving them undisturbed. Then, "I bet I could build one."

"Of course you could, after you'd taken it to bits. Which you're not going to so until my hearing is back. And after you've had some sleep."

"What's sleep?" Tony asked.

"You'll find out. Now, let's get this armour off."

In truth, he had no more targets. Grudgingly, he began to dismantle the Iron Man. "How did you get into Wakanda?" he asked, partly to distract Jan from trying to help, but mainly because he was curious. "Not that your dramatic intervention wasn't appreciated, though maybe it would have been better half an hour earlier."

"We came in first chance we had," Jan said, her voice quiet and soothing. Ignoring Tony's attempts to wave her aside, she helped him take off the gauntlets. "We'd been sitting on that damn airstrip for hours with no sign of you or Steve or any human life, though ants were reporting lots of humans to Hank. Even after you'd contacted Jarvis, we couldn't find you. Then, suddenly, everything changed and there were _cities_ on the radar, and massed population on the infrared. We suited up, Bruce hulked out, and we went in."

"The Panther God must have cancelled his magics, whatever they were," Tony said.

Jan stepped back for a moment to scan the words floating in the air. "Panther God?"

"Same way Thor is a god, probably. But how the hell did you get – or even think of getting – to that airstrip? From hicksville Oklahoma?"

"Jarvis called—"

"Jarvis?" The sharp query was not directed at Jan but at the helmet lying beside him on the table.

"I was not as sanguine about the goodwill of these Wakandans as you were, sir," Jarvis's voice answered. "It seemed to me that you might need backup, from fellow Avengers. The only one of those in immediate contact was Doctor Banner. Therefore I played him your conversation with the ambassadors and also informed him of Ms Romanoff's warning about Wakanda."

"Bruce was concerned," Jan continued, "but said that you must have a reason for accepting that invitation and that it must be a good reason if Steve was letting you get away wi— Oh, Tony. I almost forgot. I'm so sorry."

She couldn't have heard his intake of breath, so she must be reacting to his expression. Fuck. Even though there was no need right now to keep his voice steady, Tony fought to do so. That it came out harsh and cold didn't matter either. "We were suckered."

"Then so were we. Jarvis was worried—"

Tony snorted. "Jarvis is an AI. He can't worry. I didn't program it."

"Indeed, sir. But I am programmed to protect you and your interests. And you were out of touch," Jarvis said, with subtitles. Tony shoved aside his curiosity about these with some difficulty.

He had a more important question for the AI. "Was it you who called in SHIELD?"

"No, sir. Though I was aware of their presence."

"SHIELD?" Jan's eyebrows had drawn together and there was a note in her voice that was all too familiar. "Hank thought we were being watched. You didn't tell us, Jarvis?"

"There was nothing you could have done. I had no wish to complicate the situation," Jarvis replied.

"Next time, you keep them fully informed, Jarvis. That's an order." And if Jarvis was going to ignore orders, Tony was going to have to poke around in his code to see where the errors had occurred.

"So," Jan went on, still speaking in the same soothing voice was she helped Tony remove the breast and back plates. Tony concentrated on her words, trying not to remember those times when Steve had used his strength to free buckled plates that the bots could not. "I called up my private jet, chivvied Bruce and Hank – plus Hank's and my equipment – on board and told my pilot to follow Jarvis's instructions. Sit, Tony. Let's get those boots off."

Tony sat, on the nearest surface, which was the edge of the bed, but his mind was elsewhere, imagining his friends on Jan's private plane, sitting on the tarmac in the middle of nowhere under the blazing African sun, waiting for something... anything... to give them a chance to help. Bruce would endure that patiently. Hank would lose himself in the math of his latest project. But Jan would have fretted and paced and driven them both mad, just as he would have done.

And he was damn sure that, if it wasn't for her, both he and T'Challa might be dead.

"I owe you improved weapons," he said. "And you'll need an earbud on the Avengers frequency. That is, if you want to continue as a superhero after this."

Jan grinned. "Try and stop me."

"Even after Steve and Bruce?"

"Particularly after Steve and Bruce. You need allies, Tony."

Tony shook his head, unable to express his admiration. "Tell me again why we never got involved, Jan."

Jan stroked a hand through his hair. "All sorts of reasons. Because you're the nearest thing to a big brother I ever had. Because I'm not a tall blonde, and neither are you."

"Hey! I'm tall enough—"

Jan put her fingers over his lips, stemming his words. She didn't even glance at the floating letters. "Also, because I have an advantage Pepper Potts doesn't – I was your go-between as a pre-teen. I didn't understand what was happening then, but I do now."

He'd buried that memory so deep that, for a moment, he didn't understand what she was talking about. But now it surged up, renewed and overwhelming, redefining his relationship with both Steve and Pepper... 

Oh, god, what a mess.

"Lie down, Tony. Sleep," Jan ordered.

"No, I can't take your bed. Hank will—" He tried to get to his feet, but was stopped by Jan's hand on his chest.

A slim woman who was only five foot two really should not have been able to push him back so easily. "Sleep," Jan repeated. "If anyone is going to use the couch, it'll be me. You wouldn't fit. But I'm going to go help Hank.

"Jan."

"Hush." Jan drew the blanket over him. "Humour me. Rest. You don't have to sleep if you don't want to..."

His head hit a cushion that wasn't as hard as it looked. In fact, his head sank into comfort. The blankets looked rough but were as soft as angora. He'd just... rest... for a... little while...

 

"Tony! Tony, wake up."

Tony clawed his way through the layers of sleep fogging his brain. "G'way."

"C'mon. C'mon. You’re gonna want to hear this."

Tony groaned. He must have fallen asleep in the lab again. He forced his eyes open to see a sleep-fuzzed face, topped by blond hair, looming over him.

"Steve?" Even as he spoke, reality came crashing in. He blinked Hank Pym into focus. "Hank." He sat up abruptly. "What's the word on T'Challa?"

"That's what I came to tell you," Hank sounded unusually tentative.

Damn, he needed to be more wary, couldn't let anyone see how much Steve had meant to him – something he was only just beginning to come to terms with himself – and how much this had affected him.

"That T'Challa guy is frightening," Hank was continuing. "The second he came out of it he was on his feet demanding to be briefed on what was happening. The Wakandans sent for that Okoye woman, and the rest of us were kicked out."

"Your face must have been a shock to T'Challa."

"Hey, he thanked me personally, though he seemed to think I was just backing up the medics. He's right that I couldn't have done it by myself, though. This place is just incredible. One minute you think you're back about five hundred years, the next you think you're a couple of hundred years in the future. Some aspects of their medical practice make ours look primitive."

"Not just their medical practices," Tony said. "They're way ahead of us in materials technology.

"Never mind that. His Majesty wants to see you. He's been in council with his advisors, and you have—" Hank checked his watch "—fifteen minutes to get showered and changed into these ceremonial robes." He hefted up a bundle of crimson cloth.

"Christ! I'm not a fucking medieval cardinal."

Hank was suddenly serious. "No, apparently you're a highly honoured guest, who can't appear in a suit you've slept in, never mind been wearing inside the Iron Man armour. They wouldn't let you through the door."

"Okay, okay, Mister-lives-with-a-fashion-designer."

"A fashion designer who wanted to be a biochemist and now wants to be a superhero." Hank sounded not so much angry as resigned. "In the shower, Tony. The plumbing's a tad odd, but an engineering genius ought to be able to figure it out."

 

The robes turned out to be surprisingly cool, despite draping as if they were heavy. They were also soft, and rich with gold thread which turned into embroidery at the cuffs and collars.

Tony was pretty damn sure that Hank was laughing at him, but he kept his expression neutral as he made a show of shaking his sleeves into place and pacing out of the room as if he wore a dress in public every day.

 

T'Challa – at least Tony supposed it was T'Challa because he was in full Panther regalia, big cat mask and necklace of fangs included – was seated on a carved stool raised on a small dais, ringed by a semi-circle of generally older men and women in robes as richly-coloured as Tony's own.

But the seats on his immediate left and right were noticeably empty, and Okoye stood at his shoulder, other members of the Dora Milaje lined against the wall behind her.

"Anthony Stark," T'Challa said, rising to his feet. "Wakanda thanks you for your assistance in the restoration of its legitimate government, the rout of its enemies and the defeat and capture of the traitors of the Hatut Zeraze. We are aware of the cost to you and extend our condolences. For this service we declare you and your allies friends of Wakanda in perpetuity."

Tony forced himself into Chairman of the Board mode, which was as much as he could currently manage. "A great honour. On behalf of the Avengers, I thank you, and hope we may remain friends and allies."

"Ah." There was satisfaction in T'Challa's voice. "It is as our ally that you may do Wakanda a second service. I have a dilemma. I have no wish to continue to hold the SHIELD agents captive, but further interference from that organisation cannot be tolerated. Nor will I do this man Fury the honour of negotiating directly. If he wants his agents returned to him he must give cast iron assurances that he and his agency will not attempt to enter Wakanda again. Will you act as a neutral negotiator for me? I know you will reveal nothing of Wakanda."

It didn't sound much like a negotiation to Tony; more like an ultimatum. Fury didn't like ultimatums, but he was loyal to his staff. It would need careful handling.

His eyes moved to Okoye, who gave him a miniscule nod of encouragement.

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he said. Then, because he couldn't resist it: "Can I tell him that if the helicarrier enters your airspace you will shoot it down?"

"It would certainly be wise to warn Director Fury that we have the capability," T'Challa replied, his deep voice holding no hint of humour. 

_Yeah, I bet you do. Score one to me._

"I'm sure he'll be delighted," Tony said.

T'Challa inclined his head. "As you say. I thank you for this service, and so does my Council."

It was dismissal. Tony gave a nod that might have been taken as an attempt at a bow if you have been very generously inclined, and retreated.

Once out of the room he found himself surrounded by a quartet of warriors, one of whom said, very carefully, as if learned by rote: "Mr Stark, the Black Panther has instructed us to convey you to a place where you..." He frowned. "...are to wait for him. He wishes to speak to you privately."

He looked hopefully at Tony, who smiled and nodded, guessing that the message had been memorised and that none of his escort spoke English. The man bowed, and led the way down the corridor, the other members of the escort falling in behind.

 

They left him alone in a small, comfortable room furnished in what he was beginning to recognise as typical Wakandan style – half twenty-second century, half traditional East-African.

Tony avoided the low, heavily padded ottomans and sat at a recognisable desk with a sloping, softly lit surface that was probably something high tech.

Frankly, he didn't care.

Closing his eyes, he rested his arms on the slope, his head on his arms and attempted to doze.

But his mind was filled with voices and visions and memories that surfaced every time he was about to slip into sleep, a mixture of the traumatic events of the last few days, of his captivity in Afghanistan, of the Chitauri invasion and...

Something weird, unknown, that wasn't a memory, voices... faces...

"Stark?" T'Challa's big hand was gripping his shoulder. When Tony looked up he found the Panther hood thrown back, and a worried look on the monarch's face. "Have I made the right decision? Are you sure you're up to this?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm sure. I'm your best bet here. I've known Fury for years, and have been handling high-handed military yahoos for a lot longer. Though if you've got some sort of drug in that advanced pharmacy of yours that'll keep me alert for another twenty-four hours, I wouldn't refuse it."

T'Challa hesitated. "Are you sure that would be wise?"

"You can look elsewhere for wisdom. But I'm not going Zen on Fury. I need to be at my sharpest because the best way to keep him off balance is to keep needling him. And then there's something I have to deal with in New York ASAP that I don’t dare mess up."

"Which does not answer my question. As to yours, yes, we have something, but it will cost you physically."

"Yeah, yeah. You're talking to a guy with an electro-magnet in his chest. I know about physical cost."

"And emotional cost?"

It was too shrewd a question from T'Challa. 

Tony shrugged. "Yeah. That too." But he had no intention of talking about it. He hit back. "If we're counting emotional cost, what about your brother White Wolf?"

He hadn't thought it was possible for T'Challa to look shifty, but that was the case right now. "I have spoken to Hunter," he said evasively. "He shared information important to us both. He was... misguided."

"He was going to kill you. And me," Tony pointed out.

"He is my brother."

"I'm gonna introduce you to Thor Odinson, so you can compare notes about fraternal treachery," Tony told him. "Loki's his adopted brother too."

_And he defends him as you do Hunter. I'm so damn glad I don't have any brothers to betray me!_

"You'd fit right in," Tony said aloud. He rose to his feet. "T'Challa – Black Panther – there's a place for you on the Avengers team, even if your duties to Wakanda do not allow you to fight with us as often as we might prefer."

"That is a greater honour than any I have offered you," T'Challa said. "I accept, with thanks, but, as you say, there is a great deal to do here. And Tony, if I may call you by that name?"

"I'd prefer it."

T'Challa was still hesitating, then he said, in a rush, "What do you think of Okoye?"

"She's one helluva woman," Tony said cautiously. "And she appears devoted to you."

"Well if that is indeed the case – and I believed it to be so – why, when I proposed that she become my wife, did she refuse? In front of the entire council! I have not had time to cultivate women – indeed, it would be dangerous to my position – but you—"

Tony was shaking his head. "I'm worst person ever to give anyone relationship advice."

_Particularly now I know what Pepper has been up to._

He shrugged. "Most relationships I've been in have lasted less than a week." In most cases less than twenty-four hours, if he was honest.

"Okoye is sworn to my service, to train to be my wife, to obey my orders."

"T'Challa, don't. Just don't."

T'Challa ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. "You are right, of course. But it would make things so much easier with the Council if I followed at least one tradition." He sighed, then returned to business. "Is the plane on our airstrip yours?"

"No. It's Jan's. Ms Van Dyne's. Steve and I came here on one sent by White Wolf."

T'Challa nodded. "That will be at your disposal, just as soon as we remove the SHIELD agents currently occupying the airfield. Does Ms Van Dyne's aircraft have a pilot?"

"Yes. Probably incredibly handsome and capable, half in love with his employer and armed to the teeth. Jan's a qualified pilot, but she'll have ridden shotgun on this one."

"An extraordinary woman. I don't suppose _she'd_ marry me."

"Not unless your name is Hank Pym."

"Ah. So the wind is in that quarter. Let me know when they marry and I will send a suitable wedding present. Perhaps a replacement jet, if SHIELD destroys this one."

"If SHIELD destroys this one, they'll replace it. But somehow I don't think they will."

 

The Iron Man stood in the air, inches above rustling crowns of the rain forest trees. From this vantage point, using the HUD nightsight, he could see the unnaturally abrupt change to savannah on the open plain at Wakanda's borders. 

"Jarvis?"

"One man only," the AI reported, confirming what Tony was seeing in the HUD. "The only other infra-red and radar contacts appear to be animals. There is a mixed herd of antelope, zebra and African buffalo approximately a mile and six hundred and thirty-two yards away at the closest point. A group of lionesses are flanking them, on the far side of the herd."

"Forget the wildlife. Is Fury armed?"

"A side arm."

"Okay. Let's do this." Tony lifted higher and sped across the invisible border to land neatly and without fuss beside a black-clad figure, who no doubt thought himself almost invisible in the deepening dusk.

"Stark," the familiar deep voice said; a statement, not a greeting.

"Ah, don't be like that, Fury. You shouldn't hold grudges; it's bad for your digestion."

Fury's frown grew deeper. "You gonna talk to me like that, or open the faceplate?"

"You couldn't see my face in this light," Tony told him. "But a sniper with a night vision scope could. So we'll leave things as they are." Then, as Fury took a step towards him: "No, stay right there." His shields were at full strength, but there was still the possibility of an EMP attack at this range, though Jarvis was keeping a continual scan and could commandeer the armour if necessary.

"Scared of me, Stark? Really?" Fury sounded gratified.

"You've given me good reason to be cautious."

"You've given me even better reasons to mistrust you. Like wiping my best agents' records from my IT systems. Then helping them to vanish. That wasn't friendly, Stark."

"You really think Hawkeye and the Widow needed my help to go off grid?" Tony shook his head slowly, exaggerating the movement. The glowing eyeslits of the helmet would make the gesture obvious. "Boy, if I ever get to tell Widow that she is so going to tear your head from your shoulders..."

"The World Security Council isn't pleased – is, in fact, extremely displeased about your annexing Captain America."

Tony was glad Fury couldn't see his face. He hoped his laughter didn't sound as forced as it actually was. "So it _was_ you ... and you chose _Fox News_ to go with that line? Really?" He fought to keep his voice level. "I ought to have brought Steve, just so _he_ could tear your head off. Though he'd probably just punch you out." He didn't know why he was fighting so hard to keep Steve's death a secret. Maybe because if he didn't say it, it wouldn't be real. And there was still that chance, calculated at between point three and point eight five per cent that Thor had been able to save him, that he was still alive in Asgard.

Fury's voice was full of exasperation. "You said you have something to trade, Stark."

"Not me. I'm merely an emissary. From the ruler of Wakanda. He is willing to trade your agents, who entered Wakanda without passports or visas—"

"Stark, Wakanda doesn't officially exist. It's not recognised by the UN or by the World Security Council."

"Then your agents aren't being held prisoner? And your helicarrier can't be shot down if it enters Wakandan airspace? Except that they are and it will."

"Are you threatening me, Stark?" Fury sounded curious rather than angry.

"Nope. Wakanda is. I'm just the messenger boy. Wakanda will repatriate your agents on receipt of a signed agreement, from you as Director of SHIELD, stating that SHIELD will respect Wakanda's territorial integrity, you will remove your agents from their airfield – which you have already been requested to do by two countries the UN does recognise – and cease its surveillance. They want you out of their backyard, Nick."

"And if I don't?"

"The Wakandans whup your ass."

"You're bluffing, Stark." Fury's one eye held a basilisk stare. Tony almost expected to be turned to stone. Or was that the right mythos?

"As Loki found out, I don't bluff," Tony lied cheerfully. Well, he wasn't bluffing. Not this time. "Oh, by the way, in case you hadn't guessed, Jarvis has been recording since I landed. The Wakandans will hold the vid against a double cross.”

"I could just arrest you for treason," Fury snapped.

Tony grinned to himself, though without much humour. He was beginning to get to Fury, after all. "You could try. But that wouldn't get you your agents back. And if you can't find Wakanda, how can you invade it? Going to throw another nuke this way? I wouldn't advise it."

"You're a sonofabitch, Stark. And you know damn well I warned you about that nuke in the first place."

"And I know that the same fucking murderous bastards are still in charge."

There was a long pause. It was Fury who broke it. "What guarantees do I have that I'll get my people back?"

"If Wakanda reneges, they'll answer to me. But they won't. They don't want your agents, just to be left alone. Is it a deal?"

"What's in Wakanda, Stark?" Fury asked softly. "Most of the time, all we can see is jungle, ocean and mangrove swamp. And somehow you get turned back whenever you try to enter those."

"I'd take that as a warning. Don't poke the hornets' nest, Nick."

_God help me, I wish I hadn't._

"You think you hold all the cards, don't you, Stark? Okay. Deal." He touched his finger to his ear. "We're done for the moment. Withdraw all agents back to the helicarrier."

Iron Man rose into the air. "Oh, and one more thing, Nick. Your informant at SI is about to go silent; you'll get nothing more from that source."

"We don't have an informant at SI," Fury ground out.

For a moment, hope flared. "Then how did you know I'd be in Seattle?"

"We didn't," Fury said, flatly.

"Odd that you had a response team there. Even odder that there should be a gamma-radiating monster waiting for me too."

"Are you accusing me of releasing that thing? In a major city? You know better than that, Stark."

"Perhaps, Fury, but _if_ I believe you – and I wouldn't trust you if God himself appeared to verify what you're saying – then you still haven't plugged that leak in your organisation."

"If there really was a leak it would be my problem. But there isn't." Fury took a step towards him, hand outstretched. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "You're going to have to come in, Tony, sooner or later. You can't keep the Iron Man, or the Arc reactor tech to yourself."

"Not a chance, Fury. The attempts to steal my tech and to capture Captain America are amateur. You can tell whoever's behind it to stop, or face the consequences. Which will involve repulsor blasts and missiles."

Whatever Fury had to reply was lost in the roar of Iron Man's jets as he rocketed away towards the horizon.

 

By the time the details had been finalised and the prisoners handed over in return for a signed document from Fury with the guarantees T'Challa needed, Wakandan engineers had entered the vibranium mines and located the projection device – or its remains. With T'Challa's permission, Tony packed the pieces carefully and had them loaded onto Jan's plane, in the hope that he and Hank and, with any luck, Erik Selvig, could make sense of them, and with promises of Wakandan help, if required.

Those weren't the only things from the mine that were loaded onto the plane. The four crates containing what turned out to be refined vibranium were also placed on board before T'Challa's people left, along with a note from the Panther himself, which said, simply: "Because you didn't ask or try to bargain for this. And because I want you to succeed. Guard it well."

Tony flew alongside the plane all the way back to the States, though occasionally he left piloting the Iron Man to Jarvis and tried to drift into sleep.

Unfortunately, the drug T'Challa had given him was astonishingly effective. 

His mind raced through the entire journey, going over the details of the last few days, dwelling on the mistakes that had cost him so much, what he might have done to prevent them, and the possible consequences of those actions. There was also a future to face in which he had to acknowledge that he had lost Steve, and to try to locate Bruce, to hope against hope that Thor would return, to keep anyone else from being killed, to accelerate the growth of Stark Energy using T'Challa's priceless gift and, most pressing of all, to do what he had promised Fury, and make sure SHIELD's informant at Stark Industries would be of no further use.

And all the time the blood pounding in his ears seemed to whisper, "Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve."

The numbness was wearing off now but, agonisingly, the clarity of thought remained.

 

_He was dreaming, though he had no notion of what a dream was or who or what he was._

_There had been a blazing light, illuminating the stern cold faces of warrior women, embraced by the silver eagles' wings of their helmets, swords drawn against ..._

_Other visions, equally unknown, unintelligible._

_A man falling into a snowy abyss._

_A red-skinned demon._

_A dark-haired woman, gun in hand, firing at him._

_Monsters rampaging through a great city, grey scaled, open mouthed, clumsy and fearsome._

_And, again and again and again: a dark-haired, dark-eyed man, a knight in red and gold armour; a magician clad in T-shirt and jeans conjuring light with his hands; a performer receiving the applause of the crowd; a bearded face frowning in concentration; grinning widely, sunglasses perched on his nose; flushed and angry; smiling in soft affection; familiar but nameless, making him ache with longing and happiness..._

_Then it all was gone in the pain and the loneliness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Trabant – an East German made car that generally tops lists of 'the worst cars ever.'
> 
> ** Kingda Ka – as this story is written, the world's tallest roller coaster.


	17. Observing the Legal Niceties.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No longer believing that there is any hope that Steve is still alive, Tony arrives back in New York to confront more legal complexities -- and Pepper.

 

Once they cleared customs and immigration, with Jan's aircraft wheeled into the Stark hanger at the private terminal Howard had built at La Guardia, they found the armoured truck waiting for them, Happy Hogan at the wheel and Marilyn Bartowlski sitting beside him. Neither was a surprise to Tony, who had spent the last two hours of the inbound flight making the arrangements.

Jan's pilot – who, contrary to Tony's flight of fancy was female, though he'd been right about 'armed to the teeth', which cheered him – was now told to relax for the next week or so. Tony and Jan then had a short argument about who was going to pay her a huge bonus, but Happy was frowning and Marilyn was tapping a pointer against the side of her StarkPad, so they settled on scissors/paper/stone to settle it, and Jan won.

The vibranium and all of Hank's, Jan's and Bruce's equipment was loaded into the truck, then Hank and Jan took the passenger seats in Happy's cab, and Marilyn decamped into the interior with the cargo and Tony.

As the truck jerked forward, Tony removed the Iron Man helmet and gauntlets and said, "You have the papers?"

"You want even more miracles than your father did," Marilyn grumbled. She handed over two folders. "Luckily, you own most of the voting shares in StarkEnergy."

"No luck about it," Tony said. "I always intended to have total control over both tech and companies."

Marilyn harrumphed. "Potts know that?"

"Of course."

"But she's still not going to be happy about this."

"Probably not." Tony said, as he began to leaf through the papers, speed-reading and scribbling his signature as required. "But she doesn't have a choice."

Marilyn looked sceptical. "Your funeral, not mine. I also had a call from Rushman."

This brought Tony's head up sharply. "Yes?"

"She was trying to contact you. I told her you'd done one of your infamous vanishing acts. Jarvis wasn't talking to anyone but, according to Potts, a couple of African ambassadors had gone to the Tower to speak to you, and then you and Rogers had left, presumably for East Africa. Where is Rogers, by the way?"

"Out of harm's way," Tony said dismissively, but there was apprehension behind his next question. "Does Pepper know that Rushman called?"

Because Pepper almost certainly knew who Nat was.

"Well, yes. Rushman asked to be put through on the secure line, because it was urgent that she speak to you, and if anyone knew how to contact you, it would be Potts. I said that if Potts knew, she wasn't talking to me. Rushman said Potts might talk to her. . I put her through , but, apparently, Potts didn't know how to contact you either."

It occurred to him that Nat would have known that Pepper had facilitated her employment at SI and would therefore have speculated, even if she hadn't been told, that Pepper had been working with SHIELD. If so, why hadn't Natasha warned him?

Too late to have doubts now.

"Finished," Tony said, signing the final paper with a flourish. "I've made two amendments, here and here."

"Right. I can deal. Hadn't we better get on with this impromptu board meeting? I'm going to love writing the minutes, even if it is below my pay grade." Marilyn grinned happily. "Minutes of the Emergency Meeting of the Board of StarkEnergy. Location: inside an armoured truck on Grand Central Parkway. Present: Marilyn Bartowlski, secretary, and Anthony Edward Stark, Chairman and Chief Stockholder. With two out of three members present, we are quorate...."

 

Tony leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom, watching Pepper as she selected underwear from a drawer and three suits from the wardrobe, trying not to analyse his feelings too closely. There was a tight knot in his stomach and his heart was racing behind the arc reactor in a way it hadn't when he had threatened Nick Fury less than a day ago. He had planned carefully for both encounters, knew exactly what he wanted to say, but Pepper had been able to reduce him to incoherence in the past. He hoped it would be different this time.

"Hi, Pep," he said, at last.

She jumped. "Tony, don't sneak in like that. Where the hell have you been?"

Tony shrugged elaborately "In Africa. In the air. I didn't get in until less than an hour ago."

It was then that Pepper noticed the glass in his hand. "For God's sake, Tony, it's a quarter before ten. Are you drunk?"

"Not spectacularly." Though he had, in fact, taken no more than a single mouthful of the Scotch, as Tony spoke a wave of dizziness swept over him, leaving him trembling. Fuck it, the stimulant T'Challa had ordered his personal physician to give him must be wearing off. He was going to have to speed things up. Gathering his wits, he straightened and placed the glass carefully on the dressing table. "What are you doing packing at nine forty-five in the morning?"

She gave him that little, twisted, affectionate smile that was so _Pepper_ that it sent a throb of desire into his groin; half need, half memory. "It's on the schedule – I have a meeting in Washington," she said, with an air of exasperation.

"Oh, yeah. Who are you representing: Stark Industries, or SHIELD?"

She covered her dismay quickly, but Tony knew her too well to miss it, or that she hesitated just an instant too long before trying for puzzlement. "What? What's SHIELD got to do with—?"

Tony kept his voice quiet and neutral, though he wanted to grab her, shake her, or perhaps fuck her through the mattress. Except the time for that was past. "How long have you been working for SHIELD, Pepper?"

"Have you lost your mind? I'm CEO of Stark Industries, Tony, not some secret agent."

"Damn right you're not an agent – or, at least, not a good one. But you were on first name terms with Coulson, who got into both the Malibu house and the Tower with depressing ease – something you had the information and access to Jarvis to facilitate." He shook his head. "I should have known then, when I joked that the security breach was on you. Because it was. Deliberately."

"Tony, it's part of my job to make you see the people you need to see, even if it's in a roundabout way."

Ah, that was clever, and if his previous statement had contained all the evidence he had it might have convinced him, because he wanted to be convinced. He raised his eyebrows. "And that included Fury?"

"Fury doesn't need my help."

"Maybe not, but you gave it willingly enough, didn't you? And you were pretty damn cosy with him and Hill at Coulson's funeral, not to mention the Wake. All that bullshit with Happy being unable to drive and me being too drunk to fly the armour – you were Fury's mouthpiece all along."

Pepper was shaking her head. "I didn't need Fury to tell me that. You're being ridiculous. And I don't have time for this nonsense."

"Then make time to explain how you knew Hawkeye's real name."

"I don't—"

"Or why you overdid the hostility to Natalie Rushman, another SHIELD agent, despite having given the order to hire her. But you thought you were safe because I don't take an interest in hiring anywhere outside R&D, right? Same with the _Arctic Discoverer_ being leased to SHIELD without my knowledge and despite my explicit instructions? What did you do there? Slip it in with a batch of routine paperwork? I don't think so, because you know that I speed or skip read most of that, and that the ship's name would have leaped out at me. I think you forged my signature – and your ability to do that was one of the reasons I hired you, remember?"

She remembered, but from the look on her face she hadn't thought that he did, though she said nothing. She was, he knew, waiting for him to finish lining up his accusations so that she could shoot them down, instead of weakening her position by arguing each detail. He'd have to push harder to break that composure.

"I told you SHIELD was leaking like the _Titanic_ ," he went on, "yet information that only you knew ended up in their hands, and information you weren't privy to didn't. Hill was with you at Vicstar Field, when there was an attempt on my life." He hardened his voice. "Was that connected with me changing my will?"

"What? You're suggesting I hired someone to kill you over your will?"

"Fuck it, no!" He took a deep breath. "But you did know that the previous will left the whole of the company and its voting shares to you, and that left you – and the Avengers – vulnerable. Did you tell Fury that?"

"And now you're accusing me of trying to murder you for your money. What happened to you in Africa, Tony? Brainwashing?"

"The only thing I'm accusing you of is telling SHIELD too damn much. What about my tech? What have you handed over?"

 _"Nothing!"_ Pepper's voice was rising. "I know better than to steal any of your beloved technology." She visibly calmed herself and added, in a quieter voice, "Besides, it belongs to Stark Industries and we only hand over things for cash."

He managed to stop himself smiling at the quip. "So how much has Fury been paying you for your information? Though now I come to think of it, you've played Government advocate at every turn, so they've probably been paying you too."

As he'd been certain they would, those accusations broke Pepper's remaining control on her formidable temper. Her hands were balled at her sides and her eyes were suspiciously bright as she snarled, "Fuck you, Tony Stark! If you really believe that, check my bank account."

Tony waved that aside as irrelevant. It was time to close the trap. "Most importantly, though, you were the only person who could have told anyone I would be in Seattle last week. SHIELD was there. So was a gamma-ray monster."

"I wasn't the only person who knew you were in Seattle. Steve did, for one."

Pepper could not have guessed how much that attempt to shift the suspicion would fuel Tony's anger, but that didn't stop the blind rage that threatened to destroy his remaining control. "Steve knew a lot of things that SHIELD never found out, and didn't know a lot that SHIELD did. Unlike you. Did you tell SHIELD I was going to Seattle that day? Yes or no."

"If you been able to sit on your impulse to play hero you could have let—"

"A straight answer, Pepper. Yes or no!"

"Damn it, yes!"

"Well, thank you for finally being honest," Tony said, his voice raw with irony. "When you had no other choice!"

Pepper was chewing on her lower lip, a sure sign of her distress. "SHIELD's been keeping you alive, not trying to kill you."

"Prove it."

"Do you really think that – SHIELD – that _I'd_ do anything to harm you?"

"I don't know," Tony replied. "I'm not sure I know you anymore. What I do know is that your loyalties are now divided between SI and SHIELD. Apparently, I'm left out in the cold."

"My loyalties are divided? What about yours? Where am I on your list?" Pepper shot back angrily. "This... this obsession was bad enough when it was just Iron Man – I could live with that – but this Avengers thing – and Steve—"

Tony's heart froze. He had not expected this. Though perhaps he should have, because Pepper knew him so well. How much did she know? Or guess? How much _could_ she know? "What about Steve?" he asked, his voice as flat as Iron Man's, and as dangerous.

Pepper was too angry to notice. "Oh, I should have realised sooner, remembered that you always saw your women as disposable – after all, I threw enough of them out of the Malibu house. Men, though— You flirt with them as well as women and I always wondered about how close you were to Jim—"

She didn't know. Not that it really mattered any more. His best protection was the truth. If a selective truth.

"Pepper." He succumbed to temptation and took hold of her shoulders, shaking her slightly as he said, "Pepper, I – was – not – sleeping – with – Steve... or Rhodey, come to that. How long have you known me? Ten years?"

"Eleven years and two months." There was an odd note of disappointment in her voice as if he, too, should have kept an exact track of time.

"And how many men have you thrown out of the Malibu house in that time? Answer me! How many?"

"None." The word was reluctantly bitten out.

Tony dropped his hands and stood back. "So, you have no evidence that I'm gay – no, bisexual, because you know better than anyone how much I like women – yet you accuse me of fucking my closest male friends. You're so insecure you can't believe I've been faithful to you—" And he had, if with occasional difficulty.

"Why should I?" Pepper asked scornfully. "When we've been together less than half a dozen times in the last two months. When even then you were ... distracted. You never really commit to a relationship, Tony, we both know that."

That hurt. He really had tried. But he could give as good as he got. "Is that your excuse for betraying me to SHIELD?"

 _"You_ were working with SHIELD. Neither of us would have been alive if it hadn't been for SHIELD. Phil recruited me to help keep you safe. He and Fury had – have – your best interests at heart, Tony. You can't go on like this. This continual risking of your life and other peoples'."

And that hit even harder, letting the dizziness back behind his eyes.

_Steve. Oh God, Steve._

Whatever his thoughts, Tony's mouth was running on instinct. "You don't tell me what to do, Potts. _No-one_ tells me what to do." It was a lie – Pepper had spent the last – eleven years and two months? – running his life, or those parts of it he didn't care much about. No longer. He snatched for self control, taking a moment's pause because Pepper's importance in his past life deserved the respect he hadn't given Rhodey. "It might be a good idea if you started looking for a base outside the Avengers part of this tower."

Pepper was white, her freckles standing out against her skin. "Are you sacking me, Mr Stark?"

The question sobered him. "Only if you force me to," he said gently. "Making you CEO of SI was a good decision. I stand by it. But I'm buying out your voting shares in StarkEnergy."

"You can't do that," Pepper protested.

"I already have. I held a Board Meeting and I own ninety per cent of the voting shares. You can take either cash or Stark Industries stock or a mixture of both. Marilyn has the papers drawn up. I'll do the CEO job there myself. But, as Chairman of SI, I'm going to keep a closer eye on what we're producing – and who we're selling it to."

"You don't trust me." It was absolutely forlorn. That hurt, but there was too much at stake for him to weaken, even though he was cutting ties that had once meant everything to him. Still meant more hurt than he could currently bear.

It was time for the truth. "With my life, Pep? Any and every day. With Stark Industries? Far more than I trust myself. With the ARC and repulsor technology? Under the circumstances – no."

Unexpected hope lit Pepper's face. ""Tony, just listen: I was only trying to protect you—"

"I don't need your protection. I'm Iron Man, remember? Guy who saved New York from being nuked by our own side? Who's got a whole superhero backup team to call on if he needs them?" Not that there was much left of that. "You, on the other hand, will be a hell of a lot safer away from me and from SHIELD."

"I don't want to be safe!" Pepper yelled.

"My feelings exactly," Tony said, with a flicker of amusement. "But you don't choose for me, Pep – and, as for you, if you want to go base jumping off the Empire State then it's right there. Your choice, not mine."

"Damn you, Tony Stark," Pepper said, her voice suddenly quiet. Though her cheeks were now flushed and her eyes bright with unshed tears, she was in command of herself and her voice was steady. "Do you want me to leave right now?"

"You have to go to Washington," Tony reminded her. "If, that is, you're representing Stark Industries, not StarkEnergy, or me. Time enough when you get back to move your stuff out. I'll sleep somewhere else." The workshop, probably, though he could use any one of the other suites...

Except Steve's, he couldn't – wouldn't – go in there. Not now.

But Bruce certainly wouldn't mind. And Jarvis had already received his orders to lock Pepper out of all the Avengers and research floors except the penthouse itself. Hank and Jan were currently taking possession Bruce's research lab, after which Jarvis had been instructed to guide them to one of the Penthouse's guest rooms.

"You'd better finish packing," he said, with a gesture towards Pepper's suitcase.

Pepper looked wildly about her, and her hand reached for the tumbler he had left on the dressing table.

Tony dodged back out of the room, hearing the glass smash against the wall as he closed the door. Pepper really was a lousy shot.

He leaned back against the door, feeling himself beginning to shake. He'd safeguarded StarkEnergy, made sure Pepper would be safe, and cut off the information flow to SHIELD at its source.

It would have to be enough.

He needed a drink. Desperately. Almost as desperately as he needed to find some sort of sanctuary before he collapsed on the floor. Already, the world was misted. He moved onward, letting instinct guide him.

There was a bed. In front of him.

"Jarvis," he said. "Lockdown."

He was asleep before his exhausted body hit the mattress.

 

"Sir. Sir. Please wake up."

Tony groaned. He was both sticky with sweat and shivering with cold. His stomach ached and his lower gut was also protesting.

"Sir—"

"Shut up, Jarvis," he growled, rolling onto this back, then clamping his eyes shut against the light and his mouth against incipient sickness. It must have been one hell of a party... "Unless Loki's at the door, it can wait."

And why was he sleeping in his clothes?

He opened an eye a slit, and finally identified where he was: in his workshop at the Tower, which explained why Pepper wasn't chewing him out.

But didn't explain why Steve wasn't...

Memory came flooding back, making him sicker than the after effects of T'Challa's drug.

He groaned again, louder than before, and closed his eyes. The darkness and the pain reminded him of something, a dream, maybe, but it was gone now, except that he thought it had maybe involved Steve...

He was no longer certain he could cope with this.

"Start the coffee machine, Jarvis.

Climbing carefully to his feet, he staggered over to the wet room Pepper had insisted he install, shedding his clothes as he went.

His first task was the most urgent one of relieving himself. That done, he stepped under the shower and, leaning his arms against the tiles, put his head down and let the water batter him until his skin began to wrinkle.

Peering at himself in the mirror, he debated whether to try shaving, and decided against it. The goatee might be a tad fuzzy at the edges, but if anyone dared object he was in no mood to humour them.

So he grabbed a towel and scrubbed himself dry, scowled at the pale face with its stubble and dark shadowed eyes staring back at him, donned a towelling robe and padded back into the workshop.

Normally, he would have made the coffee himself, but right now he needed the caffeine hit, so let U handle a triple espresso, with Jarvis supervising in surprising silence.

Suddenly ravenously hungry, he inspected the interior of the refrigerator. Most of the fresh food was soft, slimy, dried up or growing mould, so he drained a bottle of mineral water and went searching for Power bars and chocolate.

He downed two of the former and one of the latter, together with the coffee, while U created a supplementary double espresso.

Now thoroughly caffeinated and, without Steve there to chide him, there was little point in teetering on the edge of caffeine poisoning so he didn't bother ordering another.

And it occurred to him the place was far too quiet. He hadn't asked for music, Pepper was presumably in Washington and, anyway, he had removed her entry privileges. Steve...was gone.

But Jarvis?

He put down the cup and said, "Jarvis, you have my permission to speak."

"Thank you, sir." The AI's mild tone somehow dripped acid.

"Not like you to obey that particular order, Jay. Unless you had an ulterior motive. So, you gonna finish what you started to say to me when I woke up."

"That problem is under control, sir. Ms Van Dyne—"

"Jan?" That was alarming. "Jarvis, what the hell is happening?"

"One hundred and twenty-two minutes ago I became aware that the number of SHIELD agents watching the tower had been increased from the standard two to twenty-three and that they had been supplemented by what appears to be an unidentified army unit," Jarvis stated. "So far they have not attempted to enter or to interfere with visitors or staff. When it was plain you were not ready to handle the matter, I alerted Ms Van Dyne, or rather, the Wasp. She is reconnoitering."

"Let's hope none of the agents is armed with a fly spray or even a folded newspaper," Tony snapped. "Are you monitoring what's happening?"

"Through our security system, traffic cameras, and satellites, yes, sir."

"Let me see."

Instantly, the display surrounded him, their own security cameras giving a three hundred and sixty degrees full colour and holographic display of the area around the tower, while below that were ranged the banks of smaller displays, mainly in black and white and all in 2D, some fuzzier than others.

"Whew," Tony said. "A whole lot of people loaded for T. Rex in a city whose laws effectively ban assault weapons. Though I suppose if those are our military the point is arguable. Ready the building shields, Jarvis. Any move in our direction, just raise 'em – don't wait for orders from me." Even as he spoke he was checking positions and patterns and letting his mind run freely. "I don't think we're under attack. They aren't watching us but the approaches, apart from the different units who are watching each oth— What the hell?"

One moment Park Avenue had been – well, not empty – but just full of the usual vehicles and people, the next a huge, green, man-shaped and very familiar monster was roaring at the crowds, who either scattered, heading for the dubious shelter of Stark Tower or the still-being-rebuilt Grand Central Station, or paused to lift their cells for a quick photo opportunity.

The Hulk?

Tony's first feeling was relief. The Hulk had broken loose and found his way back to New York... Bruce was alive and here...

But then he noticed that the Hulk's feet might be sinking an inch or so into the sidewalk, but when he moved the surface was intact.

"A holographic projection?" Tony asked. Because there was something very familiar about it. "One of ours."

_Or maybe not._

For the Hulk had stamped, and the expensive granite that had only been repaired a couple of months before split and splintered under the impact. Whether or not it was the Hulk, there was something large, heavy and strong out there.

Tony said, "Jarvis, is the suit prepped?"

"Sir, your heart rate is 171 beats per minute, your blood pressure is 161/104 and your body temperature is ninety nine degrees. You are not fit to operate the Iron Man suit."

"Fuck that. _Is it prepped?"_ Even as he was speaking, Tony was pulling a clean t-shirt and jeans from his locker. He could have done without underwear and socks if he had to, but both were present, though donning anything at all while still monitoring the displays was... awkward.

And on those displays black clad SHIELD agents were piling out of their SUVs, weapons that he did not recognise in their hands.

They, at least, knew the Hulk ate bullets.

But the military were showing signs of panic. Some trigger happy fool loosed a shot and—

—the Hulk was gone.

Had he jumped?

Tony whirled in a circle, and, yes, there was the Hulk, further up Park, thrusting two yellow cabs aside as he strode between them. How had he gotten there?

Damn it, that was not only a holographic projection, it was the one of the Hulk from the Avengers strategy program he had created for Steve, magnified to life size, given weight and substance—

He didn't believe it. There was something disguised by the projection; who or what he couldn't say. But, right now, the only entities who had access to the program were himself and Jarvis.

And the Hulk vanished, leaving the agents and military alike baffled.

"Jarvis, what—?"

But Jarvis was overriding him. "Ms Romanoff and Mr Barton are now crossing the lobby towards your private elevator. I instructed the security guards to let them through. I trust this meets with your approval?"

Natasha and Clint. "What? Of course. Totally in order. What about Jan?"

"She is returning to the tower, sir."

"Good. Take Romanoff and Barton to the Penthouse, but make sure I'm there first. And the order about the shields stands."

 

Hawkeye and the Black Widow arrived just as Tony had composed himself into the epitome of casual, Clint bouncing ahead of Natasha. He had affected long hair and a pointed beard and managed, despite his obvious intention, not to look in the least like the comic book hero Green Arrow.

Natasha, on the other hand, had decided to travel back to the 1960s, in a tie-dyed dress that came to her ankles and, God help him, _beads_ , though those were probably a weapon, knowing her. All she lacked was a flower in her long hair.

"Wow," Tony said, inadequately.

There was a good thirty seconds of silence, then Clint said, "Nat, we have accomplished a miracle: we have silenced Tony Stark."

"I'm trying to work out how Jarvis recognised you," Tony retorted.

"Could have been the agents following us tripping over each other," Clint said dryly.

"I take it from that your cover is blown?"

"Like Katrina."

"So..." Tony clasped arms with Clint, then mentally checked Natasha for obvious weapons before leaning over and pecking her cheek. "Welcome home, Nat."

"The disguise is a disguise, not an invitation, Stark. What was SHIELD doing out there? If it hadn't been for the Hulk—"

"That wasn't the Hulk." Tony found he was saying it in chorus with Jan, who suddenly appeared perched elegantly on the arm of one of the overstuffed sofas. Instantly, Natasha had a gun in her hand, and Clint was wielding a commando knife.

"My," Jan said, absently fluffing her hair, "your friends are jumpy, Tony. Do introduce us properly, darling."

"You were the voice in my ear," Clint said, "warning us there would be a diversion."

"And you can relax, guys," Tony said. "This is the Wasp. Wasp, Hawkeye and the Black Widow."

Natasha was staring at Jan. "I've seen your face before. On the cover of _Vogue_. You're Van Dyne."

Jan grinned at her. "Janet Van Dyne, fashion designer, playgirl, biochemist and now, superhero."

Natasha held out a hand, "Natasha Romanoff, sometimes known around here as Natalie Rushman and professionally as the Black Widow, spy and assassin. And thank you for your assistance."

"No problem," Jan said, with an airy wave of her hand.

"You don't say," Clint said. He turned to Tony. "We hadn't meant to come in, but then there was that business in Seattle. There was a whiff of Hulkiness about that creature, so we went looking for Lieutenant General Ross. We didn't find him, but, boy, we did stir up a hornet's nest. Nat spoke to your legal eagle, and she said you and Steve were in East Africa, which rang all sorts of different alarm bells."

"I warned you about Wakanda," Natasha said pointedly.

"But not about Pepper."

Natasha frowned at him. "What about Potts?"

"That she was shovelling info in SHIELD's direction, which was then leaking to all and sundry. Come on, don't look so damn innocent, because I don't believe it for an instant. She hired you."

"Coulson arranged that," Natasha said.

"Using Pepper," Tony corrected.

Natasha and Clint exchanged glances.

"Jesus," Clint said. "I told you Potts looked tight with Fury at Phil's funeral."

"And I thought she was pumping him for Stark."

"So," said Tony, "did I. We were both wrong."

"Well, that explains why SHIELD were waiting for us here," Clint said wryly. "Nat spoke to her when we were trying to contact you, see if you could aid us in coming in."

"You're telling us Potts would have passed that information to SHIELD?" Natasha was sceptical.

Tony nodded.

"Who guessed we'd head for Stark Tower."

"Hence the swarming SHIELD agents, plus added military. They make you out there?" Tony asked.

"I don't think so," Natasha said. "We spotted them first."

"We were about to retreat," Clint said, "when something whispered in my ear that there was going to be a diversion and that would be a good time to head to the Tower. Then the Hulk appeared – only you say it wasn't the Hulk."

"We don't know for certain where the Hulk is," Tony said. "But he's probably in the hands of a dangerous unknown enemy who just happens to have control of teleportation portals and some innovative weaponry."

"Wakanda?" Natasha asked.

"U-huh," Jan said. "Those guys were behind an attempted coup in Wakanda."

"For crying out loud," Clint growled. "That can wait. If it wasn't the Hulk, what the fuck was it?"

"Question seconded, Robin Hood," Tony said, looking hard at Jan. "Some of it was a holographic projection – using my tech, I might add – but there was something physical, very large and very strong in there too."

Jan was looking smug. "Hank," she said.

"Hank?" Tony frowned at her.

"Yeah. You know, expert at shrinking things. And if you've got the technology to shrink someone, it's not that hard to adapt it to make them grow."

Tony closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm not sure I can cope with a giant Hank Pym."

"You won't have to. He only agreed to do it if Jarvis and I disguised him as the Hulk. I've told you before: he has no intention of being a superhero."

 _He may not have a choice,_ was Tony's thought. Then, _Jarvis?_

"Jarvis, what the hell?"

"I was about to explain that, sir, when your fellow Avengers entered the building."

"It was Jarvis's idea, actually," Jan said brightly. "He alerted me that they were out there and in trouble. Identified them for me, too, because I'd no idea what either of them looked like unsuited. "

"Whoa! _Whoa!_ " Clint raised both his hands and made pulling on the reins gestures. "Translation for those in the cheap seats, right now."

Tony raised an eyebrow at Natasha, who said, "I may have some ideas, but put it in words of one syllable, if you're capable of it."

Tony took a deep breath. "Dr Henry Pym is a biochemist who has invented a way to shrink people to the size of insects. Jan also grows wings when she shrinks to wasp size – and I'd really like to know about that myself. Hank has now, according to Jan here, invented a way of turning himself into a giant. Jarvis projected a holographic image of the Hulk, which I'd programmed into a strategy simulation, to disguise him. I presume he vanished by shrinking to ant size when Jarvis switched off the projection. I recognised the technique. Jarvis and Steve worked something like that a few months back..."

"Where is Cap?" Clint asked suddenly.

"Is he still in Wakanda? If so, when's he coming back?" That was Natasha's voice, a long way away. "Stark?"

Tony's pulse was thundering in his ears. "He isn't." His voice seemed to come from someone else. "He's never coming back. He... he's dead. I led us straight into a trap, and these damn fools followed and now Bruce is missing too. I was in too much of a fucking hurry, but Earth's vulnerable, we're all vulnerable, and it takes too long to synthesise vibranium and we just don't have the time—"

"Are you sure he's dead?" Natasha demanded, scepticism plain in her voice. "After all, he was supposed to be dead for seventy years."

"Yes I'm fucking sure!" Tony yelled.

"What's going on?" Hank's voice asked.

"Damned if I know," Clint responded.

Natasha's fingers were wrapped around Tony's chin, a fraction away from a stranglehold. Not that he could breathe, anyway. Maybe she would just kill him and then he wouldn't have to explain.

"What the hell happened, Stark?"

 

"God, what a mess," was Clint's opinion, when the explanations has been given, the briefing finished. Tony had somehow managed to push away his personal pain, and force himself back into a semblance of detachment.

He wondered if he fooled anyone.

"Can we trust this T'Challa?" Natasha asked now, her eyebrows up in her own special brand of scepticism.

Tony sighed. "I'm not sure. With anything that doesn't threaten Wakanda, I guess. He's a good ally to have, though."

"It would be better if we still had Hulk, Cap and Thor," Natasha said bluntly. "And with no offense to Van Dyne and Pym here."

"You owe your current safety to them," Tony snapped.

"And I'm strictly backroom," Hank protested. "Which reminds me, Tony: we finally figured out the link between the Chitauri troopers and their 'leviathans'. We've also worked out the atomic structure of that gas you acquired – the one that reacts so explosively with Chitauri tech and flesh. I'll leave the synthesis to you, but it shouldn't be that difficult."

Jan said, in sudden alarm, "Our 'Unknown Enemies' have Bruce. D'you think they’ll be able to access the Oklahoma labs?"

"It was the Hulk who went through the portal, and even if he turned back into Bruce, as long as he's conscious he can turn back into the Hulk," Hank pointed out, "and the Hulk's not going to lead them there."

"And if he's not conscious he can't tell them," said Clint, nodding.

"All the same, we need to clear the facility," Tony decided. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, hoping the discomfort would help him concentrate.

"Not a problem," said Hank. "Bruce figured we might be putting the base in jeopardy by going to help you and Cap, so Jan and I shrank down everything of importance. It's sitting in the truck we drove to Oklahoma City. Even Bruce doesn't know how to return it to normal size. As for the computer data, we removed the hard drives and shrank them too."

"What about Dad's lab?" Tony asked.

"We've stored the less critical material there – and the Chitauri machine, shrunk and buried," Hank told him. "Bruce figured you wouldn't want to risk that anywhere near a population centre."

"Damn right. I can have the contents of the truck shipped here as normal freight, though I'd prefer you supervised the transfer, Hank."

"Send him out as Ant-Man," Jan suggested.

"Jan," Hank protested. "I am not—"

"Honey, I am not going to keep saying 'Hank-shrunk-to-ant-sized. Really."

"I'll send Happy on some errand or other," Tony decided. "You can travel with him. Save on expenses because the airlines can't charge for an ant. You know, you're going to have to be careful with this when you go commercial. I'll get Pepper to— Or perhaps I won't. You want Jan with you?"

"Jan," the woman herself said, "has to go see Betty and explain what's happened to Bruce. And she would prefer that Tony went with her, because he is closer to Bruce than she is."

"Betty?" Natasha asked.

"Doctor Elizabeth Ross. She's at Culver, in West Virginia."

"I thought that must be who you meant. She's Lieutenant-General Thaddeus Ross's daughter." There was a warning in Natasha's voice.

"She's estranged from her father," Jan said, "and a good friend. She's still in touch, and in love, with Bruce. Tony?"

Tony thought about the crates of vibranium, about what Natasha and Clint might have learned in Washington and what Pepper might be doing there, about accelerating the StarkEnergy programme, about getting Erik Selvig to look at the remains of the portal, about the SHIELD agents stationed outside his building, about the meetings he had to attend, the research he needed to do and about Steve's death and the decisions he would have to make about that, sooner or later.

And about his duty to his friend, and the woman who had stood by him. "Okay, Jan, and we need to do that now. Jarvis, please direct Hawkeye and the Black Widow to their floors – and get Happy up here."

 

Dr Elizabeth Ross was quite possibly the most beautiful woman Tony had ever met, so beautiful that he actually caught his breath at his first sight of her, and hurriedly lifted the faceplate, as Jan flew down from his shoulder to resume her normal size.

"Wow!" Dr Ross said, her eyes on her friend. "Turns out seeing is believing. Love the suit, Jan, and I want those wings!" Plainly remembering her manners, she turned to Tony with a smile on her face. "I'm so very pleased to meet you, Mr Stark," she said. "I won't offer my hand until you're out of that armour, but Bruce and Jan have both spoken so often about you that I feel I know you."

"You're staring, Tony," Jan chided him.

"Of course I'm staring. Bruce never said he'd been engaged to a reincarnation of Helen of Troy. And forgive me, Dr Ross, but I'm damn sure you're used to that reaction."

She laughed. "If you want the plain-Jane scientist I can always put on an oversized lab coat and glasses, and pin my hair in a bun. My father would insist on it, if he could."

"Unfair. Totally unfair to all males – whether or not they're straight – in the vicinity.""

"Down, boy," Jan said. "Remember she's taken."

"I wish Bruce believed that," Dr Ross said wryly, "but, anyway, I understand from him that Tony prefers tall blondes."

Shock rippled through Tony – surely she couldn't know? – and it must have shown on his face, because Betty put a hand to her mouth.

"Oops... sorry."

Maybe she meant Pepper? Of course, Bruce must have been talking about Pepper.

"But Jan and Bruce always call you Tony. It just slipped out."

Relief swept through Tony. He deliberately gave her his most charming smile. "I would be delighted if you would call me Tony. And if it wasn't for Bruce I'd make an absolute exception for tall and incredibly beautiful brunettes."

"Bruce also said to watch out, because you were a flatterer, except when your emotions were really engaged."

 _And what else had Bruce said?_ Tony wondered. He took a deep breath and let his mouth run. "I speak nothing but truth to beauty, Dr Ross," he said, affecting a bow, which wasn't easy because the armour wasn't designed to bend like that. "Ask anyone. No, on second thoughts, don't. Just trust in me." He rolled his eyes.

Dr Ross burst out laughing. "I'm not sure I should, Tony, but somehow I do. Call me Betty, please. Are you here about that creature in Seattle? I still haven't been able to make contact anyone still working with gamma radiation – and your head of security, Mr Jarvis, hasn't been able to put me through to Bruce."

Tony winced. He'd almost forgotten why they were here. "No, I'm afraid he can't."

Dr Ross looked surprised. "The Hulk hasn't smashed up Harlem again, has he? Or was it this morning's romp around Manhattan? He didn't look to cause much damage but news channel editing can be deceptive."

Tony exchanged a helpless glance with Jan, who said, "Betty, that wasn't Bruce."

Now Dr Ross was really looking worried. "Bruce sent me a message saying he was going into danger, and not to worry because, you know, the Hulk is pretty much indestructible."

"He isn't dead and isn't hurt, as far as we know," Jan said quickly. "But he is missing in action. Tony and Captain A—

"Captain Rogers and I," Tony interrupted, "ran into some trouble in Africa. When we went out of touch, Bruce—"

"Actually," Jan cut in, "I was the one who insisted we try to find them." She shrugged. "Hey, I wanted to test the wings and weaponry. So, my bad."

Tony said, "Not so bad. The Hulk, along with Jan and Hank, saved the day, but he chased our enemies into a teleportation portal, presumably right into their filthy hands. The portal was destroyed behind him. We've heard nothing since." Not quite a lie. "We had to deal with a Hulk incursion," had been too vague to make anything of it here.

"But you'll look for him." It wasn't a question.

"Of course," Tony said, "but right now we don't have a clue about where the teleportation portal took him."

"You think it might be into space? Another dimension?" Betty asked, her voice shaking just a little, though she was trying to be casual.

Tony spread his hands. "Or Hoboken. We just don't know. And, from the way the enemy was talking, if they did manage to subdue him, they just may be looking for a buyer for the Hulk."

_They certainly had one for Captain America._

Betty said: "You're thinking of my father."

"Have you had any contact with him?" Jan asked. "Is he still heading that super-secret project that everyone I know knows about?"

"I suspect so," Betty said, without any hint of reluctance. "He was here at Culver about the time you and Hank suddenly weren't. We had an uncomfortable conversation where he once again tried to get me to resume the work Bruce and I had been doing on gamma rays. When I told him I still had no interest, he tried to get me to admit I'd been in touch with Bruce after the battle of Manhattan." She pushed her long dark hair back from her face in an unconscious gesture. "At that point, I hadn't but I'm sure he didn't believe me."

Jan was giggling.

Betty frowned at her. "And don't think I don't know who nagged Bruce into contacting me."

Jan gave her an unrepentant grin.

Betty sighed. "Bruce told me he'd be safer – and other people would be safer – if he was well away from civilisation. I offered to join him, but he wouldn't tell me where he was. And neither would Jan," she added, with a mock glare in her friend's direction.

"Too many people knew that secret already," Tony said and, Christ, he could so easily have told Pepper, but it was only by promising Bruce that he would keep the information to himself that he had finally persuaded him to accept the Oklahoma refuge. He kept to the letter of that by not telling Hank and Jan – and later, Steve – where they were going before taking them there. "But it's a place that's no longer as safe as it might be. When we find Bruce, I'm going to try to persuade him to stay at Avengers' Tower – if you were there, it might make that task easier. And the facilities are great."

"Find him first," Betty said. "Then we'll see."

"You could be in danger," Tony protested.

"From Dad? Not likely. But I can try to find out where he is and what he's up to. Oh, I won't do it directly," she added, as Jan and Tony both started to protest, "but I still have contacts in the Army and at the Pentagon, friends I grew up with."

"Be careful," Tony said, "and yell to Jarvis if you need help. Bruce would never forgive me if I allowed you to get killed."

"Just find him for me, Tony. I can't ask for anything else until you do that."

 

_He was standing on nothingness. In darkness. Miles above him, the dark sky was crossed by the even darker branches of what looked like a gigantic tree. Two large birds, equally black, circled overhead._

_He had no memory of where he was or how he had gotten here._

_He could not even remember his name._

_A inhumanly tall woman rose from the depths of the abyss, clad in green so dark he first mistook it for black; a skin tight body suit on a perfect figure that might have been alluring if it wasn't patterned with a distorted skeleton in sickly light green. Her hair, even her eyebrows, if she had them, were covered by a mask, but her lips were blood red, and her eyes chips of white ice. Cold and darkness flowed from her, but with it the promise of oblivion._

_She held out a hand to him._

_He started to step forward but, suddenly, three tall – enormously tall – people were blocking his path; two women and one man, all glowing with a golden light that seemed to illuminate them without falling anywhere else._

_The woman in the centre of the trio was beautiful but somehow ageless, with a face full of stern wisdom, though her blue eyes were kind. To her left stood a younger woman, armoured, her long dark hair simply braided, a bright sword in her hand, her lovely face fiercer than eagles. On the right was a huge and powerful young man with shoulder-length hair as golden as the light. He was also armoured, with a long crimson cloak swinging behind him; in his right hand he held what appeared to be a massive mallet – no, hammer. It was a hammer. How he knew that was impossible to say, but the hammer and the man were familiar, and his presence both disturbing and reassuring._

_The blonde woman spoke calmly, with a note of command that sounded perfectly natural: "You are not welcome here, Hela. The Allfather confined you to your own realm."_

_"This is the entrance to my realm," the woman in green – Hela? – said and her voice was an icy wind tearing the blonde woman's warmth to shreds. "And this man made his way here of his own will."_

_"No!" the man's voice was angry. "He is not yours. He is a warrior, the bravest of the brave. In death he would belong to the Valkyries, to feast in the hall of Valhalla—"_

_"Ha! He is Midgardian. Odin has forbidden the Valkyrie from the collection of Midgardian souls."_

_"As he has also forbidden your presence on Midgard," the blonde woman said firmly._

_"And that any Midgardian should enter Asgard. What has the Allfather to say about this one's presence, Frigga?"_

_"The Allfather has business elsewhere. I rule Asgard in his stead," the blonde woman – Frigga? – said. "My son and I will answer to him and no one else."_

_The man spoke in his deep voice. "This man is a member of my war band. And my shield-brother."_

_"A Midgardian? That will, indeed, please the Allfather," Hela said mockingly. "I wish you joy of your explanations. As for this one..." She held out a hand, beckoning. "Come. You will sleep deep with me, and in that sleep, your comrades may visit my realm."_

_Sleep sounded perfect. Yet he hesitated, afraid of the ice in Hela's eyes, in the depth of the cold wind that blew from the abyss._

_A wind that vanished as the blond man stepped between them. "She lies. Hela – death – always lies. Captain, take my hand. Anthony, your shield brother, gave you into my care. He is awaiting you back on Midgard."_

_"Anthony?" The name was unfamiliar._

_"Tony Stark. The Man of Iron. Without you, he is so very alone."_

_The blond warrior stretched out a hand towards him..._

_And, quite suddenly, he remembered that hand being offered to him in aid on the field of battle._

"You ready for another bout?"

_Thor. This man – warrior – god was called Thor._

_Slowly, he clasped the offered arm and was pulled away into warmth and comfort._

 

When the bright mists cleared he was still clasping Thor's arm, but the angle was different – wrong. He was lying flat on his back, propped on huge, soft pillows—

Thor?

"Captain," Thor said, "do you know me?"

Steve took a deep breath, then another. There was no pain but he felt incredibly weary.

Thor spoke again: "You are safe in Asgard, under the care of the Queen of Asgard, my mother, the Lady Frigga."

Asgard? How could he be in Asgard? The last place he remembered being was Wakanda and that kingdom, strange as it might be, was very much of Earth. Tony had been there. They – White Wolf – had been going to kill Tony. He'd stopped that, at least temporarily, by taking the drug meant for Tony – he'd been dying, had known it...

Had he died? Had the serum put him into suspended animation again to save him? Thor looked just the same as when they had fought together in Manhattan, but then Thor was an immortal, or near enough—

"How long?" His voice was weak, hoarse.

Thor's face lit up with a smile. He turned his head and spoke to someone Steve could not see: "He has returned to us."

"How long?" Steve repeated desperately. "How long was I... dead?"

Thor was frowning at him, saying nothing.

"Has it been years? Centuries?"

Because if it had they should have let him die. He couldn't face losing everything... everyone... again.

Thor's expression had cleared. "No. No, Captain... Steven. You were not dead – not for more than a few minutes – but you stood on the edge of death for six Midgardian days.”

Steve's eyes closed in relief and exhaustion. But there was still one question he had to ask. "Tony? Is he—?

"The Man of Iron gave you into my hands or you would, indeed, have died. Heimdall is keeping watch and tells me he is safe in his homeland, though he is always on the move."

"Thank..." Steve swallowed the word 'God' afraid that it might be regarded as an insult. But that didn't matter. Thor's word was good. Tony was safe. That was all that really mattered. He slipped into sleep.


	18. Dealing With the Art of the Possible.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clearer knowledge does not always simplify the situation, either on Earth or Asgard.

Tony and Jan arrived back at Stark Tower from West Virginia just as the sunset was gilding the skyscrapers with red-gold light. The city was at its most gaudily beautiful, and it cut Tony to the quick to know that Steve wouldn't be on the roof with sketchpad and watercolours to capture it.

He relinquished his armour to the bots and, with a normal-sized Jan silent at his side, made his way into the lounge area, with its raised curving bar, overstuffed sofas, and the floor-to-ceiling windows through which Loki had hurled him with intent to kill. The room was empty, but there were cheery voices not far away, and there were delicious scents fighting the air conditioning.

Suddenly, Tony realised just how hungry he was.

Despite there being only two people seated at the end of a table that was designed for twenty, its marble top was almost invisible under the scatter of takeaway containers, paper bags, bottles, glasses, porcelain plates, exquisite Chinese bowls, silver flatware and cheap wooden chopsticks.

Pain tightened in Tony's chest and, for a moment, he couldn't breathe as memories overwhelmed him, of sitting with Pepper and Steve, candlelight limning their beautiful – loved – faces, arguing long into the night with all their passion and wit and intelligence, lost beyond recall.

Then a shout of greeting went up and he and Jan were swiftly seated and offered food of a mixed variety of cuisines and nutritional value. He almost refused, but after the first mouthful he set to with a will, hardly caring what he was eating. 

"Anything I need to know, Jarvis?" he asked, with his mouth full, knowing the AI could pick out his voice amid the babble.

"Ms Potts has been attempting to call Captain Rogers on his cell since she left the building," Jarvis said, and the room was suddenly quiet. "It is, of course, going straight to voice mail. She has left both a message and a text asking him to call her urgently."

Tony shrugged. "Too late for the divide and conquer gambit."

"She's still going to be suspicious when he doesn't answer," Jan pointed out helpfully.

"And she may pass those suspicions to SHIELD," said Clint.

"In which case it'll be all over the net in twenty seconds," Tony said, with a sigh. "Jarvis, has SHIELD put out an alert to look for Cap?"

"Their standard 'inform HQ on sighting' is in force, I believe, sir. Also presumably for you, Ms Romanoff, Mr Barton and Doctor Banner."

There was something amiss with that response. Tony ran it back to himself in his head. "Jarvis," he said sharply. "'Presumably?'"

"I am no longer able to contact SHIELD's computer systems, sir."

"What?" Tony was on his feet, unsure of how he got there. "Since when?"

"Since 1841 hours EST on the ninth. The day you were in Seattle, sir," Jarvis added helpfully.

"Did you figure I wouldn't be interested?"

"At first I presumed they had instituted new code, sir. When it became clear that the network had vanished entirely, I did inform Captain Rogers."

"That doesn't answer my question, Jay. Why Steve and not me?"

"You were asleep in the workshop at that time, sir. After that, there was no opportunity. The UN ambassadors had arrived and I was instructed to remain silent. After that you were out of contact. I assumed Captain Rogers had told you."

"He didn't have the opportunity either," Tony admitted. "Or when he did there were more immediate topics to discuss." He sighed and slumped back down into his chair. "The timing suggests that that monster in Seattle may finally have convinced Fury that there is a leak in his organisation. Step one would be to close down their computer network in case they'd been hacked."

Natasha was shaking her head. "They can't have shut it down. SHIELD's intelligence is dependent on its computers. They must have found a way to strengthen their firewalls and lock you and everyone else out."

"Excuse me, Ms Romanoff, but that is not the case," Jarvis said. "There have been no wifi communications, either at the Triskelion or the helicarrier, or between them since the evening of the ninth. There is none now."

"Burst laser or maser transmissions?" Tony asked.

"No trace, sir. The computers in any one unit may be connected by fibre optic cable, but they could not network between the ground and the helicarrier," Jarvis said. "They may have resorted to sneakerware."

Natasha and Clint stared at Tony, who said, "They use portable media and walk between computers."

There was silence as everyone contemplated this ridiculous idea.

"Carrier pigeons?" Clint suggested, with a faint note of desperation.

"They'd have to look out for hawks," Tony responded, grinning at Clint, who glanced at Natasha, took a swig of beer and did not respond to the bait.

Natasha, on the other hand, fixed Tony with that assessing stare. "I'm sure you and Jarvis will work out what happened," she said. "Meanwhile, we ought to pre-empt the inevitable questions and announce Captain America's death in action."

"No!" Tony exclaimed, then, in response the Natasha's quizzical eyebrow: "For one thing, we can't produce a body. So Captain Rogers will have to disappear as mysteriously as he arrived. I have no intention of handing over the shield and, for the sake of Steve's reputation; I'm also continuing the lawsuits over the Captain America name."

"Won't that be harder, now he's dead?" Clint asked, leaning his chair on its back legs and putting his feet on the table. 

"You have no manners, Barton," Tony told him. "Feet down."

"Who are you, the den mother?" Clint asked cheerfully.

"Nope, your landlord."

Clint looked at him levelly, and repeated, "Won't it be harder, Mr Heckles?"

Tony shrugged. "I'm not a lawyer, but unless anyone's record equals Perry Mason's, they don't stay on my team."

"Anyone who came from the Attorney General's office or the Department of Justice in general?" Natasha asked sharply.

"I don't know," Tony admitted.

"I wasn't asking you. Jarvis?"

"Not overtly, Ms Romanoff," Jarvis said. "Checking further."

Tony put down his fork and eyed Natasha suspiciously. "Why the Attorney General's office? I mean, apart from the obvious: that the Justice Department is advising the White House and the Pentagon on their legal disputes."

"Because the Attorney General is hand in glove with the Pentagon over the copyright lawsuits. He's been consulted on the attempts to seize the ARC reactor technology too, though the main mover there is the White House Chief of Staff, who's been bought off by Roxxon Oil," Natasha explained. "Do you really think we were wasting our time in Washington, Stark?"

"I don't suppose that even one second – correct that, one nano-second – of your time is ever wasted Nat, even if you're only keeping Barton in line."

"Hey!" Clint protested through a mouthful of cheesecake.

"That does not take effort," Natasha replied, without missing a beat. "We've been working undercover to pinpoint who was after you and Cap, which is not an easy job. You – the Avengers, but especially you – are not popular in the capital, Tony, with either the Executive or Congress."

"Don't forget SCOTUS," Clint interrupted. "There are judges panting for the chance to hand you your ass."

Tony was unshaken: he had known all along that the Attorney General had to be involved in the legal actions against him, though it did explain his lack of significant progress with the movers and shakers in the White House, which he had put down to the impending elections. "Guess I'll have to up the political slush fund."

Natasha ignored him. "We've done all we can, short of assassination, particularly with all the key players outside the Pentagon on the stomp."

"They'd all love to take you down so close to a Presidential election," Clint added.

"Not ruling out assassination," Tony said, fighting to keep his voice as serious as he could manage. "Who do you suggest we target? The Attorney General and the White House Chief of Staff might cause more trouble than they're worth. We could try General Ross, but Betty Ross would probably object. And I like Betty. More to the point, so does Bruce and no one wants to argue with the Jolly Green. How about the WSC instead? And how much are the pair of you charging and can I offset it against your rent?"

Natasha cleared her throat. "And that's another thing. It was bad enough when the Avengers Initiative was under the control of SHIELD – and Defence already hated losing control of _that_ to the World Security Council – but at least the US had permanent membership of the WSC and it was packed with their allies, so it gave them the illusion of control. So when you made it damn clear that the Avengers were going to be an independent force, financed by private capital but based in New York, practically every politician threw a tantrum."

"In private," Clint pointed out.

Jan said, "Because Tony and Steve are real popular with the public."

Natasha nodded. "Yes, but the public only count until the election votes are in. Washington takes far more notice of the special interests Stark's pissed off. Do I have to list them? Not just in the US but worldwide? The military, the oil companies, the power generating companies, the auto industry, the ship-building industry, the climate-change deniers, the gun lobby—"

"Hey, you saying that I'm not loved by the NRA?" Tony protested. "I would have thought they'd adore me for being a living embodiment of the Second Amendment. I'm going to send back my membership card."

"Are you a member of the NRA, Tony?" Jan asked, with a grin.

"Dad was an alumnus. So no, unless Obie or Pep enrolled me without my knowledge. I'm probably on their shit list because SI stopped manufacturing small arms and assault weapons. Are they pissed?"

Natasha made a hissing noise of exasperation. "Stark, I am trying to warn you here. There are powerful people in Washington, not to mention Moscow, London, Beijing, Brussels, Berlin and Tokyo and most other cities you can think of, who regard both you and Steve as traitors and more shadowy people behind them who seem to want the science of both Captain America and Iron Man – and probably the Hulk too – in their hands. Surely you've found that much out from the White House computers?"

"Oddly enough, Natasha, I'm still patriotic enough to have faith in the constitution so no, I have not hacked the White House or Congress. Though I am now reconsidering in the light of this new information."

"And the Pentagon?"

"Oooh, now the Pentagon is fair game. They try to hack me, I do hack them," Tony said. "I have my own list of our problems there. Jarvis will need to compare your list of people working against us with mine. I need to be sure who is pulling government strings before I aim the pair of you at them."

"Gee, you've gotta give me lessons on winning friends and influencing people, Stark," Clint commented. "So, what's it gonna be? Wholesale slaughter or a coup d'état?"

"Isn't one a consequence of the other? Hold yourself in readiness, Barton." Tony rose to his feet. "Meanwhile, I have a company to run." He grabbed the last remaining doughnut and crammed it into his mouth. "Ciao," he said, round it.

As he exited, he heard Jan's unmistakeable chuckle. "You have to give it to Tony: judging him by the quality – and maybe the quantity – of his enemies leaves him way ahead of the field."

For the first time in what seemed like years, Tony found himself smiling as he made his way to his workshop.

 

With all his security activated behind him, Tony felt a rush of relieved tension as the computer displays came to life and the bots trundled out to greet him.

"Hi, children. Miss me?" Even as he spoke Tony wondered why he was putting up a front for his helper bots and Jarvis. Though the latter, of course, knew better than to believe it.

"Welcome home, sir," Jarvis said.

Tony pulled himself together. No time to feel sorry for himself. "O-kay," he drawled. "You know my methods, Jarvis. Find out if the White House or Justice is stupid enough to keep information we can use on their computer systems."

"Already at work on it, sir."

"That's my Watson, er – Jarvis. How close are the manufacturing bots to completing the repulsor powered transport modules?"

"Completed and tested, sir. You may load them whenever you wish."

"When we have something to load 'em with. Analysis of sample of vibranium from the crates?"

"On your screens now, sir."

"Right." Tony reached for a tablet and began sketching, the design appearing in the air in front of him. With his right hand, he was tapping figures onto a keypad, without a single glance either down or to where the numbers were appearing in the air.

As always, work would save him from the emotional consequences of a fucked up life. He hoped.

 

Three hours later, he said, "Jarvis, have the manufacturing bots run up a prototype based on these designs." He stood up, flung his head back, and stretched his spine. "Have you located Erik Selvig?"

"Yes, sir. He is with Dr Foster in New Mexico."

"Ready the Mark IX and let's load up the new transporter pod. It'll be a good test run."

 

Steve woke to the sound of metal sliding against stone. Opening his eyes just a slit, he looked quickly to left and right.

The man sitting by his bed was sharpening a sword blade on a whetstone gleaming with oil, each stroke smooth and measured, his expression one of pure concentration.

Steve had never seen him before; he was sure of this because he would certainly have remembered the dark blond hair falling rakishly to one side of his forehead, short-trimmed beard and curled and pointed moustaches, not to mention the dark green jerkin, breeches and knee high boots.

Then the man glanced quickly towards him and flashed a smile, laying aside the sword. "Ah, you're finally awake again. A moment." He jumped to his feet, strode across the room, poured golden liquid from a flask into a goblet, and came back as quickly. "You are to drink this at once, according to the Lady Frigga – and I will be in deep disgrace if you do not do so."

Steve laughed, then started coughing.

At once, a strong arm slid behind his back, and the goblet was held close to his lips. It smelt wonderful. He sipped at it cautiously, and the thick liquid soothed his throat as instantly as it warmed his stomach.

"Thank you," he said, in a voice that sounded much stronger even to himself. He took a firm hold of the goblet and the other man relinquished it as soon as he was sure of Steve's grip and used the now freed hand to insert pillows between Steve's back and the bed head.

Standing back, he contemplated his handiwork. "I fear I am a poor nurse," he said.

"But a better warrior?" Steve said, with a nod towards the abandoned sword.

"Yes. I'm Fandral. Sometimes called 'the dashing.' One third of the Warriors Three. And part of Thor's personal war band, for which he also claims you, so we are comrades in arms."

"Thor was here," Steve said. Or had that been a dream?

"Yes. He's been here most of the time since he brought you to Asgard, but the Lady Frigga has an appointment today that she must keep, and Thor and Sif – I suspect they would say they are protecting her, but they are also witnesses if Loki—" Fandral put out a quick hand, stopping Steve's involuntary move to rise with astonishing strength. "No, rest easy. You are in no danger from Loki, though he undoubtedly would take revenge if he could for your part in defeating him and his allies."

"He's here?" Steve hated himself for his own fear. He only hoped Fandral could not hear it in his voice. They had sent Loki back to Asgard, and Thor had promised he would be brought to justice. But how did you deal out justice to a god? And he was Thor's adopted brother, Odin's adopted son, and Frigga...?

Fandral was nodding to himself. "You are wise to fear him," he said. "No, no, I fear him too, and I have been his comrade in arms. But Loki is imprisoned in a place tailored to his very nature, where any word spoken must be the absolute truth, a fitting prison for the Prince of Lies." 

"Does he talk a lot?"

Fandral chuckled. "He says nothing. Which is why Frigga is charged by Odin to question him at regular intervals. A wise move. I think Loki still cares for her. Of course, her own heart is so great she still loves him as she ever did." He sighed. 

"What does she – and Odin – think he can tell them? Legend says that Odin knows... well, a great deal."

Fandral gave him a very sharp look indeed. "Odin does not know all, just as Heimdall does not see all that passes on the Nine Worlds. Some things are hidden. Loki did not conjure the army that attacked Midgard, and equipping him with Infinity Stones was the act of a madman, madwoman, mad god, mad alien overlord, mad magician, whatever. Odin, I think, has his suspicions, but Huginn and Muninn do not talk to me."

Steve let the huge number of things that he did not understand in that little speech slide. He had more urgent questions. "How did I get here? I... Thor said I died..."

Fandral considered him carefully, then resumed his seat beside the bed. "Thor has not given me leave to speak of this, but then he has not forbidden it either. We will make a pact, the two of us. I will tell you what happened, and then you will sleep. Satisfactory?"

Steve couldn't help but grin at him. "Very."

"Well, the Rainbow Bridge – the means of transportation to the other eight of the Nine Worlds – is now restored. As soon as this was accomplished, Thor sought leave to return to Midgard. There is—" Fandral actually twirled the ends of his moustaches "—a young Midgardian lady. Her name is Jane and she is valiant and beautiful."

"Doctor Jane Foster," Steve said, remembering a conversation he had had with Tony. "She's one of the most brilliant astrophysicists on Earth – Midgard."

Fandral nodded. "Thor is attracted to intelligence, almost as much as he is attracted to courage. The Allfather, however, does not consider a Midgardian mortal a suitable consort to the heir to Asgard's throne, and certainly not as the King of Asgard that Odin intends to make him. He therefore refused Thor's request and forbade him to return to Midgard save in the direst emergency, such as that of Loki's recent attempted invasion. He also issued an edict that no Midgardian should be brought to Asgard."

"Then I'm here illegally."

The moustaches were twirled again. "A matter of some debate, as Odin rides abroad on Sleipnir, seeking news of Loki's allies, and Frigga rules in his stead. She welcomed you as her son's friend and shield-brother. Also, you were dead, and could not request, dissent or demur. You bear no blame."

"But there'll be trouble for Thor?"

"Thor not only attracts trouble, he seeks it out," Fandral said, with a grin. "Which is why you are here and alive." He quirked an eyebrow at Steve, plainly asking for an invitation to go on.

"No one is more surprised by that than I am," Steve said ruefully. "The last thing I remember is having a crazy telepathic conversation with a local god who was plainly terrified of Asgard. He— she— it— The Panther god had some sort of magical barriers in place – I pleaded for... for it to remove them, hoped that Jarvis had sent the Iron Man armour after Tony – Tony Stark."

"Ah," Fandral said, with satisfaction. "That fits in with what Thor has told us. He had asked Heimdall, who can see most things that pass in the Nine Worlds, to watch for danger not only to his lady, Jane Foster, but to his comrades who fought against Loki."

"The Avengers," Steve said.

"Heimdall sent a message to Thor that two of his friends had vanished not just from the face of Midgard but that of the Nine Worlds. One moment they were visible, the next they were not. Also, there was the presence of magic. Thor asked him to keep a close watch. Two Midgardian days passed, with the only surprise the arrival of yet another of Thor's friends at that location – the one called Bruce Banner."

"Bruce was there?"

"Indeed. Thor took to lurking in the Observatory. He was there when Heimdall announced that the magic was gone and that he could see not only Anthony Stark and yourself, but a representative of old enemies whom Odin had banished back to their own dimension.

"Thor considered that gave him leave to return to Midgard immediately, though he refused to let us accompany him. He was back more swiftly than we had anticipated, bringing you with him. After that, it was in the hands of Frigga and her servants. You are lucky, Steven. The Queen of Asgard has great magic and, in the absence of Odin, was free to use it." He rose to his feet and faced Steve, then spoke what were obviously formal words. "Fear nothing. We – the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif – have been charged with keeping you safe here in Thor's apartments. Even if Loki or Odin himself comes for you, they will not reach this room." He relaxed into his normal casual self. "Now, this has been quite enough conversation. Frigga will have my hide if I have overtired you. So rest easy, knowing we will keep you safe until you return to Midgard."

 

" _Kveðja,_ Erik," Tony greeted, as Iron Man landed, with the transporter, taller than Tony himself, coming to earth neatly beside him.

"You've been brushing up on your Old Norse," Selvig said, "or maybe Icelandic. Or was it that AI of yours instructing you? Any word from Thor?"

Tony hesitated, thinking of the last time he had seen Thor, disappearing into the whirl of light with Tony's heart in his arms. "I've seen him," he said. "He was on Asgardian business – something about a god Odin had defeated and banished millennia ago – and he had to return to Asgard at once. Quick turn round."

"Oh?" Selvig looked sceptical. "You'd better not tell Jane. She's already furious with him for not looking her up after the Battle of Manhattan."

"He had to take Loki and the Tesseract back to Asgard, and he wasn't letting anyone else help with _that_ task."

"Loki." Selvig said it with deep hatred. "Both he and the Tesseract are better off Earth." He frowned. "So would— Did Thor take Loki's staff with them too?"

"I don't think so. When I looked for it it had vanished. Maybe SHIELD had something to do with that." At least, that was what Tony hoped, but other things had vanished after the Battle of Manhattan, things much bigger and marginally less dangerous.

"I'm not so sure. I'm their go-to expert for Asgardian tech and—"

"It isn't Asgardian," Tony pointed out. "So you aren't working for SHIELD at present?" 

"No, though Jane – or, in honesty, me on her behalf – is suspicious about the source of her new research funding."

"None of you need worry about that," Tony said, off-handedly.

Selvig ruffled his stubble with the back of his hand and an air of satisfaction. "Ah. So it is you."

"Maria Stark foundation." Iron Man opened the transporter, extracted a box, and put it on the ground at Selvig's feet. "This is the remains of one end of a teleportational portal, apparently built by someone on Earth. When it's working, it's frighteningly familiar; you know, disco blue, lots of swirling, sticking its tongue out at us, yadda yadda. You probably have the best chance of figuring out how it works since you got to grips with the Tesseract."

Selvig grunted, but he was already opening the bag. "Not much left of it."

"Hey, not my fault. Not this time. It blew itself up. Some sort of built in self-destruct," Tony explained.

"Who built it?"

"That's the point. I don't know. But they're hostile. Like Alien queen hostile. So if you should happen to reconstruct it, call me before you switch it on. You never know what might be on the other side – including an angry Hulk."

"I'll be careful," Selvig said. "Tell Thor to come on over when you see next see him. And tell him we have beer. Lots of beer."

"I don't see how he can resist," Iron Man said, rising into the air, with the transporter floating on its repulsors beside him. "I'll be in touch. Take care."

Selvig raised a hand. " _Far vel._ "

 _Fare well_. Tony only hoped the blessing would work. "Take care, Erik," he said in response, and blasted to the skies, the transporter following in his wake.

 

Tony's stomach was churning as he watched the limo come slowly down the ramp into the Tower's private garage. He had not spoken to Pepper since their break up, but he wasn't able – or, indeed, did not want – to avoid the scheduled Stark Industries Board meeting. 

Happy pulled to a stop a few feet away, and jumped out of the driver's seat to open the door for Pepper. Tony's heart skipped a few beats. Pepper was wearing a white suit with a short tight skirt – it was one of his favourites – and her exit from the limo provided him with a perfect view of her long and lovely legs.

Just showing him what he was missing.

Once erect on her Jimmy Choos, she eyed him eyed him coolly, and greeted him with an even cooler, "Mr Stark."

"Ms Potts," he returned. "All go well in Washington?"

"It's in my report to the Board but, yes," she said, thawing just a little as Tony opened the elevator doors and ushered her inside. Then she added, "Maria and Fury want to talk to you. They say you're ignoring their calls."

"So I am. Let them sweat a little. I'll talk to them when I'm good and ready," Tony told her, as they began their long ascent to the Board Room. "Meanwhile, how do you want to handle the disclosure that you'll be giving all your time to Stark Industries in future? Will you announce it, or shall I?"

"I've also included that in the final draft of my report," Pepper replied. "Basically, that by mutual agreement we've decided I should give all my attention to Stark Industries, while you're taking personal charge of Stark Energy. Anything else is none of their concern."

"Sounds about right. As Chairman, I'll disallow any questions that look like getting personal."

"I expect that. Also, I'm moving back to the West Coast as soon as I can arrange it."

It was not unexpected. Pepper had no real connection with New York, while Tony had been born there. "Do you want to borrow the Malibu house for a while?" he asked.

"That's kind of you, but unless..." Their eyes locked for what seemed like an age. Pepper's expression was uncertain and Tony suddenly realised what she might be asking, offering... but he knew he couldn't answer that, at least not in words. 

Then the doors opened in front of them, and the moment was gone.

Pepper said: "It's a beautiful house but everything in it, every line of the building, every facility is yours; your design, your taste, your needs – with all your security and surveillance devices. So no. Thank you, but no. I need to leave all that behind."

She stepped out into the lobby, Tony at her heels.

As the doors closed, she said, "I'm moving into one of the hotel executive suites we keep in LA as a temporary measure. I'd appreciate you giving access to my contractors to pack and move my personal effects, both in the penthouse and my office, though, of course, I need to keep an office of some kind here. My PA can cope with routine duties. She's ready for promotion."

"Your decision," Tony said. "Keep your current office. I'll see your PA moves to something more suitable. Meanwhile, send in your contractors. Jarvis will keep an eye on them and make sure they don't miss anything."

"Satisfactory," Pepper said, hesitating a little so she was in step with Tony as they entered the Board Room.

 

Tony had a bounce in his step as he left the Board meeting, again at Pepper's side – they had waited until those present in the flesh had left, though that had been less than half the board. The meeting had gone more quickly and smoothly than Tony had expected and his working partnership with Pepper had operated as well as ever.

"Do you want to come up to the Penthouse now and identify your stuff for Jarvis?" Tony asked.

Pepper hesitated, and looked at her watch. "I think I have time. I also need to pack a couple of suitcases."

"No problem."

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence as Tony called the elevator, which lasted until they stepped into the car. At once, Pepper spoke, but not to Tony. "Jarvis, could you ask Steve to come to the Penthouse. I need to talk to him."

"I am sorry, Ms Potts. I am afraid that is not possible," Jarvis answered, before Tony could recover his wits.

Well, at least it was better than, "He's dead."

"Why not?"

"He isn't here," Tony said quickly, remembering that Jarvis knew of his decision to keep Steve's death a secret, but reminding him all the same.

"He isn't answering his cell or his e-mail," Pepper persisted.

Tony shrugged.

That silence seemed to confirm Pepper's suspicions. "You have no damn right to block my calls!"

"I am not blocking your calls!" Tony snarled back.

"Of course not," Pepper said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just because you don't want Steve to hear my side..."

"Your side? You don't have a side, and that's not a matter of opinion, but plain fact," Tony shot back.

"If that was true you wouldn't be stopping me contacting Steve."

"I'm not. He isn't _here_ , dammit!"

The doors opened into the penthouse.

"Then where is—? What's _she_ doing here?" Pepper demanded, on an outraged note, as she saw Jan curled on one of the sofas, her red pants suit bright against the black leather.

"I could ask the same of you," Jan responded lazily, from behind her Martini glass. 

Damn. He'd warned Natasha and Clint that Pepper would be in the building, but hadn't thought to say anything to Jan. The tension between the two women was already crackling in the air. He hurried to try to defuse it. "Pepper, Jan's borrowing one of the suites—"

"Oh, I'm _sure_ she is. It's not as if she doesn't have an apartment a few minutes walk away and a house out on Fire Island."

"—and Pepper's collecting some of her stuff," Tony continued, despite his sinking feeling. The afternoon, which had begun so well, looked like turning into a nightmare.

"Do you want me to lend you suitcases?" Jan asked Pepper sweetly. "Or maybe a cabin trunk or two."

Pepper ignored her. "I see you lost no time in renting out my room now I'm not here to take out the trash, Tony."

Tony saw Jan's eyes narrow in anger. He said, quickly, "Jarvis, have Ms Potts' luggage brought up out of store, and any of mine that she might want to borrow. Also, alert Happy that I need him. He's to meet me in the garage." 

"At once, sir."

"I'll be needing the limo in an hour or so," Pepper protested.

Tony needed a drink – several, and badly. "Tough," he snapped. "Call for a pool car and driver. Jarvis, if anyone needs me, tell them to call Happy in the limo. I haven't decided which club or bar I'm frequenting yet." He stamped towards the elevator.

"Wait!" Jan jumped to her feet. "I'll come with you. Let me get my purse."

"You don't need your purse when you're with me," Tony pointed out, even as Jan slipped into her shoes and unearthed her purse from under a coffee table. "You can show me the latest hotspots, though." He'd gotten out of touch because he'd found he'd rather spend time with Steve, and Pepper when she was in New York, and neither of them were interested in bars and clubs. Indeed, Pepper's foot was tapping which only hastened his exit with Jan on his arm.

 

"What's gotten into Pepper?" Tony asked plaintively, as the traffic stopped for no obviously apparently reason and the limo, perforce, stopped with it. "I mean, she's mad at me, an' that's, you know, kinda expected, but you were just sitting there being decorative, which you're good at, by the way, and she _knows_ you're one of my oldest friends and—"

"That's one of the reasons she's never liked me," Jan said gently, "though she managed to hide it well enough when we only met maybe a couple of times a year and usually had a whole continent between us."

"She's not that petty, Jan." But he had to admit that he'd known about Pepper's antipathy to Jan, much as he'd tried to ignore it. It was one of the reasons he'd not mentioned helping Jan and Hank go undercover, but it was something he'd never understood. Jan and Pep had so much in common... 

Jan put her head on one side and regarded him quizzically. "You really aren't good at understanding people, are you? Pepper built her life around you and Stark Industries – but mainly you. I'm a threat. I've known you far longer than she has and she doesn't really believe I see you as a big brother rather than a potential lover. She also thinks I lead you astray, rather than the other way about. I'm a few years younger than she is but had created my own business and made a fortune I didn't need while she was still your assistant. And I'm a woman. She doesn't see men as the same sort of threat."

Tony drew in a sharp breath, remembering Pepper's words: _Men, though— You flirt with them as well as women and I always wondered about how close you were to Jim._

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Tony said.

Jan's eyes narrowed for a moment and Tony could almost see her reassessing her judgement in the light of that last statement. Then she grinned. "And, of course, she can't wear this particular shade of red—"

A motorcycle suddenly swerved across the limo's nose. Happy, caught off guard, braked a moment too late, and spun the wheel so desperately that, instead of avoiding a collision by riding the kerb, the limo fishtailed, its rear clipping a the side of a truck that had inexplicably decided to swerve across their original path, and, incidentally, slashing through a tyre. The impact shoved the limo up onto the sidewalk, sending pedestrians scattering.

Tony had lived his life with the knowledge that, if he was involved, these things were seldom accidental. He bore Jan to the floor of the limo, but she suddenly vanished from beneath him, leaving her clothes in a patch of scarlet on the floor and taking to the air in a flash of wings.

The truck's rear doors flew open and half a dozen black-clad masked gunmen – or possibly gunwomen for who knew nowadays? – barrelled out, but Happy's error had accidentally positioned the limo so they were delayed in getting to the doors. Happy himself was still clinging to the wheel, but Tony thrust the nearest door open, slamming it straight into one gunman's face as he himself twisted below it, sweeping a second gunman's feet from under him.

"Stark!" That was Natasha's voice. "Leave them to us and get away from there."

As Tony rolled away he heard the 'thwok' of a bowstring and the crackle of high voltage electricity, whether from the arrow or the Widow's Bite he wasn't sure. Just behind that came the unmistakable sound of a gun, probably silenced, because he couldn't locate the source, but the target was immediately obvious by the thud of a falling body and a call from Nat to Clint in a language he didn't know.

This was interrupted by a shout of surprise and rage. As he came to his knees, Tony saw that one of the gunmen was twisting in circles, trying to dislodge Jan, who, clad in nothing but her dignity, was riding his shoulders, her naked legs wrapped about his neck, her fingers locked in his hair, dragging his head backward until his neck seemed stretched out of shape.

Another of the gunmen lashed out at her with the butt of his rifle – an M-2 carbine, Tony noticed absently – but Jan had vanished before it made contact. Instead, the gun butt crashed into the side of the head of the man she had been fighting.

He folded without as sound, as did his unwitting assailant as Clint took him down in two deft moves.

Suddenly, all was quiet, save for the occasional pseudo-camera noise of the odd cell or tablet. Even the traffic was quiet, engines stalled or turned off. The police sirens were still at the very edge of hearing deadened by noise of the shot.

"You okay, boss?" Happy mumbled as he climbed slowly out of the limo.

"Just fine." Tony got to his feet, brushed the dust off his pants and straightened his tie. "No thanks to you. What the hell happened there? Forget everything they taught you on those expensive courses I sent you on?"

Happy glowered back. "You think I shoulda hit the bike?"

"If you had, I'd'a billed your boss," a unknown voice mocked, "because your insurance wouldn't pay out. If you'd got it right you'd have got clean away, and I coulda dealt with this scum."

"Hold it right there!" 

Every eye turned to Hawkeye, who had an arrow – a lethal one, Tony realised suddenly – ready to fire at a tall, muscular man, who shouted 'soldier' from his buzz cut through his posture to his unfashionable boots – not to mention the Desert Eagle automatic in his belt and the Steyr AUG slung over his shoulder. His hands were raised well away from his guns, though his expression was, as far as Tony could tell, attempting to simulate amusement.

"Hey, Barton, if I was going to kill any of you, you'd be dead, and this ain't heaven."

"Which none of us are likely to see," Natasha said from behind him. "Do not use our names so freely, or I'll communicate yours – your real one - to the authorities."

"Then I would have to kill you. Which wouldn't trouble me, given your past."

"You could try, buddy," Hawkeye said tightly.

"I've killed assassins before." The man's hands, large and calloused, spread wide. "But everyone's in debt to you right now, including me. That makes me twitchy. So I'm out to pay off as much debt as possible."

Clint eyed the Steyr, still slung across the man's shoulders. "Maybe. Or maybe you weren't offered the contract."

"You know fuckin' well I don't take contracts. But I do get to hear about them."

"There's one on me," Tony said. 

"Yeah. Lucrative an' still open. But it ain't popular. Not when it means going up against Captain America and Iron Man. Be even less when the trade finds out you've added Hawkeye and the Black Widow. But this is wasting time I haven't got. This wasn't a kill contract and it wasn't aimed at Stark."

Tony was suddenly cold. "They could not have known I'd be in the limo. I didn't know myself. Christ, Pepper. Pepper was going to take the limo..."

The unknown – to him at least – nodded. "Give the man a cigar. You're nearly as smart as you think you are. Yeah, they were hired to kidnap Virginia Potts."

"Leverage," Clint said. "Go for the girlfriend."

Happy made a kind of bleating noise of protest, but Tony overrode him, "She's not my girlfriend."

"That's kinda sudden, isn't it? You gonna have to work to convince anyone of that. Meanwhile, if I were you I'd leave these hired guns to the Feds. They should be here in a couple of minutes – if they're still alive." Lowering his hands, the soldier walked over to the MV Augusta F4 motorcycle that he had somehow found time to put on its stand, straddled it and started the engine.

"What the hell did he mean by that?" Tony asked plaintively as the motorcycle roared away.

"When Pepper arrived at the Tower she was trailing two SHIELD agents," Natasha explained. "Jarvis spotted them and Clint identified them. They would have been following the limo as it left, because they couldn't see Potts wasn't in it. Something has delayed them, hopefully not fatally." She pushed one of the gunmen with her toe, but he did not stir. "We'd better get out of here."

"Wait, how did you two get here in the first place?"

"Borrowed the bike in your garage," Clint said. "Some hog."

Steve's modified bike. Tony bit back an angry comment: Steve would not have objected. "But how did you know—?" His eyes went to Jan. "Traitor."

"Just taking precautions, sweetie. I'm not sure you're completely emotionally stable right now. And I've got to protect Hank's scientific funding source..."

Happy muttered something that sounded distinctly like, "Fuck scientific funding."

"What's eating you?" Tony demanded, rounding on him.

Happy shook his head.

Tony closed an iron hand on the chauffeur's shoulder. "Spit it out."

"Not my place," Happy mumbled.

"Damn that. You messed up today because something's eating you. Now, spit it out. Because I'm not getting back in that car with you fuming while you're driving."

"Pep – Ms Potts – she says you – how could you? You dumped her. She's—"

"She betrayed me," Tony said shortly.

"You're lying," Happy protested. "She would never—"

"She betrayed me – and, honestly, Happy, she's safer away from me – from this." Tony waved his free hand vaguely at the still figures on the sidewalk.

Happy glared at him. "I don' like your new friends. And where's Captain Rogers?""

"Not your business," Tony snapped.

"He wouldn't have let you dump Pe— Ms Potts."

There was a disbelieving snort close to Tony's ear, but he was too angry right then to identify the origin. That assumption plainly came from Pepper, and told him all too clearly why she had been trying to contact Steve. What was more, Happy, one of his oldest friends, had plainly swallowed her version of the story – whatever it happened to be – whole.

And he had kept his reasons from the Board, and from Happy, to protect _her_.

Sooner or later, everyone betrayed him.

He didn't need them. Any of them.

"I'll drive from here," Tony said decisively. "And, in future, if you want to drive Ms Potts rather than me, that's fine. I'll have your contract transferred from me to Stark Industries. No loss of salary. You just keep Pepper safe."

He relaxed his grip on Happy's shoulder, and patted it for a moment. "Clint, Natasha, you'd better get out of here. Don't scratch the paintwork on that bike. Jan and I will handle the cops. And SHIELD, if we have to. Well, move. You too, Happy. Pepper will be needing you back at the Tower."

"Boss..."

"Take a cab if you can find one, but you'll be quicker on foot. Now, fuck it, move!"

 

It was late in the evening before Tony and Jan finally escaped the attentions of the NYPD and SHIELD and returned to the Tower. The authorities had spent so long arguing over jurisdiction that Tony had, in exasperation, pointed out that the entire incident would have been viewed on the Internet by half the world before they got around to seeing the footage.

Tony still didn't know who had taken charge of the prisoners and didn't really care. He did know that an APB had gone out for the vigilante – whose name turned out to be Frank Castle – but no one seemed in the least hopeful about catching him.

There had been too many questions about why Captain Rogers hadn't been there. Tony had tried to brush them off, but everyone seemed to think they were joined at the hip or something. The SHIELD agents, in particular, had been suspicious and he knew he would have to face Fury sooner or later.

A lot later, he hoped.

As they entered the elevator, Jarvis informed them that Hank had called and left a message for Jan – which sent her hurrying to their quarters.

The Penthouse was empty. Tony took one look at the Master bedroom where all of Pepper's presence had been stripped away, and fled.

Once back in the safety of his workshop, he dropped into a chair buried his face in his hands.

"Sir—"

"Shut up, Jarvis," Tony snarled.

"Sir, Ms Potts left a message—"

"I said, 'Shut up!" Tony snarled, slamming both fists down on the workbench. "Shut up! Shut up!"

For a while there was no sound in the room but that of his own harsh breathing and the thumping of his heart.

He lost everything that mattered.

Part of him ached to call Pepper, have her come here, to comfort him with her familiarity.

But even if that would work, even if Pepper would come back to him – and the odds on that were depressingly low – even if he could trust her – and he couldn't, not really – it would be using her. He had done enough of that in the past, placed her in danger too often, made promises he couldn't keep. He would not do it again.

_Besides, it's not her that I'm really missing, is it? Not her loss I'm mourning?_

"Shit!" Tony grabbed the nearest tool – a wrench – and flung it away. It hit the forge and bounced, narrowly missing DUM-E. The bots scuttled for cover as, in an effort to stop himself creating more damage, Tony swept the remaining tools from the workbench in a clatter of metal. "Damn it, _Steve_." He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, as if that would somehow stop the tears he didn't want to acknowledge.

God, he was so tired, and he wanted so much...

For the pain to stop. For the anger to go away. For his father's voice to stop haunting him.

For his friends to still be friends.

For Steve to come home.

But there had been no word from Thor, and that could only mean one thing: all hope was lost.

And the future he had planned? Maybe hope was lost for that too.

Steve had never quit. Not when he'd been rejected by the military time after time. Not when he'd lost his mother, then his childhood friend. Not when he'd lost everything else and become a stranger in his own city. Not aliens in that city or hostile gods. Only death had stopped him.

 _I can do this,_ Tony told himself. _Only death will stop me._

"Okay, Jarvis," he said. "Let's take a final look at those specs before I transmit them to Seattle. And I'll need a base on the West Coast for a while. Have the Malibu house prepped." 

"Yes, sir. Or I can locate you a house nearer Seattle."

"No. I need a decent workshop and it's commutable in the suit."

_Which I guess I'll be wearing most of the time for the foreseeable future. And while the house may hold memories of Pepper there will be none of Steve. It has to be enough._


	19. Thought and Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's plans are in motion, but there is no peace for him on the West coast. Meanwhile, Asgard is not a safe a haven as it might appear.

Steve was drifting through dreams of great black cats with green and yellow eyes, of the flash of guns and rainbow light and dark wings, of a train racing above a snowy abyss and a huge tree spreading over a darker, deeper place; and voices, a menacing deep growl, and the seductive voice of a woman both spreading cold into his heart, and a much loved voice, shouting his name in anguish – he fled from them toward wakefulness, but each time he understood that these were dreams, and he was reassured and fell back into them.

Until, quite suddenly, he was awake and aware of a different set of voices. He did not bother opening his eyes, but tuned in on the low-voiced conversation, some voices familiar, some not.

"...seemed pleased to see us," a rich, deep woman's voice was saying.

"That bodes ill for someone," a deeper man's voice boomed, in a failed attempt at a whisper.

It was followed by shushing noises.

"But did he actually tell you anything, my lady?" Fandral's voice asked.

"He smiled."

"He smirked." That was Thor. 

"You think he still has sources of information." Fandral was not asking a question.

Steve opened his eyes in time to see Thor looking with narrowed eyes at an extraordinarily beautiful woman with rich dark gold hair caught in an elaborate style and threaded with pearls. Though her creamy skin was unlined, there was experience, wisdom and maturity in her expression. She seemed familiar, though Steve could not remember where he had seen her before – and surely he could never have forgotten her... 

"Mother?" Thor said, on a rising note.

"I fear it might have been a mistake to teach Loki how to summon the Ravens," the blonde woman – Thor's mother? Frigga? – admitted.

The rest of the company – a huge man with rusty hair and beard falling haphazardly in spiral curls; a compact, frowning man with features that set him apart from all the other Asgardians that Steve had so far seen, his black hair radiating in short parasol spikes from a top knot; a slender and fierce-looking young woman with a sword in her belt; Fandral, and Thor – exchanged looks that ranged from puzzlement to alarm. 

"What? Why would you do that?" Thor asked, apparently for all five of them.

"I did not," Frigga said firmly. "Your father did. You were just coming into your power, and Odin had presented you with Mjolnir. He had to balance that gift, could not favour you too much. And you were not, in those days, interested in Thought and Memory. It is not a gift Odin can withdraw, once given."

"Can Huginn and Muninn speak to the Prince of Lies even on the Isle of Truth?" the enormous man asked.

"If they speak truth. Which is their function," Frigga replied.

 _The Prince of Lies_.

"Loki," Steve said. "You're talking about Loki."

Every eye was suddenly on him. "Steven!" Thor's exclamation was unashamedly happy. "Did we wake you? I knew we should not have brought Volstagg." He threw a wide grin at the huge redheaded man.

"Stuff and nonsense," Volstagg boomed. "I am as quiet as a cat."

"One in heat," Fandral said.

"Out, all of you!" Frigga ordered. "I need to tend to my patient. Yes, that includes you, Thor."

"Pay heed to my mother, Captain," Thor said, with a bow in Frigga's direction. "You can see that she rules even in my own house."

Frigga shook her head at him. Once she was alone with Steve, she came to stand looking down at him, a smile on her face. "I hope Fandral took good care of you," she said.

It was impossible not to smile back. "He told me he was too scared of you not to, your Majesty."

"Frigga," she corrected him. "Or Lady Frigga if you wish to be formal. I am not your queen. At least—" She frowned. "—I hope I will never be your queen. For now I am simply your magician-physician." She paused, her expression quizzical. "The Allspeak made a mess of that, didn't it?"

"I don't understand," Steve replied. "You're a magician? And a physician? And what is the Allspeak?"

"The Allspeak is what allows Asgardians and non-Asgardians to speak to each other as if both were talking the same language. Unfortunately, when either uses a word or a concept the other language does not have, the translation can become problematic."

"There is nothing problematic about you saving my life, is there?"

There was a smile on Frigga's lips and in her eyes. "My son Loki did you great wrong, yet you allowed him to live. Even if Thor had not pleaded with me, I could not have allowed one of those who made that choice to go unrewarded. But now you must rest." The last thing Steve saw was her hand moving above him in a complex gesture, and sleep came easily.

 

Iron Man was flying high – high enough, Tony hoped, to avoid attention from the ground, though he had, on this particular occasion, filed the appropriate flight plans. Of course, he hadn't mentioned that Iron Man was, in this case, the centre of a swarm. The transporter pods clustered about him, protected by his new stealth technology. Most of them contained equipment eventually destined for Stark Special Projects in Seattle where, no doubt, the staff were still frantically working on preparations for their arrival.

He could see the haze over LA now, below and to his left, and he adjusted his course slightly to swing out over the Pacific. He had timed it just right: the sun was sinking low, laying down dazzling light on the waves.

Tony brought his cargo in along that road of light towards the house on the Malibu cliffs that had been his home for over ten years.

"Open the doors, Jarvis," he ordered, and dived towards the dark hole that opened in the cliff face below the house, the transporter units lining up to follow him.

Once all the armoured titanium steel doors had slotted back into place and Jarvis had landed the transporters neatly on the floor of the vault, though it was a close squeeze, Tony opened one of the units, taking out a briefcase – and Cap's shield, which he placed carefully against the wall.

He wasn't entirely sure why he had brought the shield. It had been safe in New York – ought to be perfectly safe in New York – but he didn't want to let it far out of his reach. And it was as safe – safer – here.

Picking up the briefcase, Tony cast one last look at the shield, then Iron Man rose on his boot jets and up the narrow shaft that led to the garage, multiple hatches opening as he rose, then snapping shut behind him.

 

Half an hour later he was standing, whisky glass in hand, once again looking out through a ceiling high curve of window at a familiar view, but clear of skyscrapers and road and river traffic. Here there was just open ocean and rolling breakers below, the occasional smudge of an island no longer visible against the red sky, only a few navigation lights betraying the ships that would pass as night fell.

The house felt empty. 

For over ten years it had been his sanctuary from people – somewhere he had total control over who he saw or spoke to, a retreat where he could lock everyone out, even Pepper. Sure, Pepper, Rhodey and Obie (damn his black soul) had all spent nights in the guest rooms, and there had been a long succession of women, few of whom he could remember, sharing his bed, but they had never been there long enough to disturb the peace of what had always been his safe place

Now he was completely alone, save for Jarvis who was everywhere and nowhere, his other self. Even the helper bots had been left in New York. 

The whisky burned his throat, but did not warm him.

He'd thought he wanted this. Now he wasn't so sure.

"There is a call for you, sir, on the secure line from the Tower," Jarvis's voice said softly.

"SSP?" He hoped it was just an engineering problem. Though the Stark Special Projects manager had his cell phone number and wouldn't be calling through the Tower anyway...

"No, sir. Doctor Elizabeth Ross."

"Betty Ross?" Even the memory of her lifted his spirits slightly. "Put her on speaker. Hi, Helen of Troy. Needing any wooden horses today?"

" _Betty,_ remember, Mr Stark." There was a sharpness in her voice he had not expected and it made him grin.

"Right, Helen. Betty. Helen, Betty. I can't decide. Can we start this conversation again?"

To his delight, he'd made Betty chuckle. "I'm sorry to trouble you over there in LaLa land," she said. "Have I interrupted anything?"

"Ha! Malibu is not LaLa land – it's much worse," Tony told her. "And you can never interrupt, so don't apologise. I never do." 

"So Jan tells me. She also says I have to report this to you, though neither of us knows what it signifies."

Ah, a new puzzle. Tony felt a flood of relief. Puzzles were distracting. Puzzles could consume him. "Go on. Is it about your Dad?"

"No, I'm still working on that. Dad's supposed to be suspended and under investigation but no one seems to know where he is. But this is something else. I told Jan because Hank— No, let me start from the beginning." She paused for a moment, plainly collecting her thoughts. "When Jan and Hank moved out of their Culver laboratory early this year, it was because they thought it wasn't secure."

"Neither was the one they moved into," Tony said dryly. "Luckily, by then they'd moved again."

"Well, you know Hank. Meticulous doesn't begin to do him justice. He always hangs on to experimental evidence, even when he's promised not to, right back to his student days, all beautifully catalogued. When they moved, he and Jan left everything that wasn't relevant to their current experiments behind them. A few days ago, I was asked to take a look at what they'd left – someone has reminded the Trustees that there are privacy issues in respect of some biological samples.

"And they were right to be concerned. Hank's store included one hundred and nineteen samples of human genetic material collected during his graduate student days, all nicely anonymised with numerical codes. Except I know Hank well enough to know there had to be an index to those codes somewhere – there was for everything else. And he would never have taken an odd number of samples. But there was no trace of a hard copy. So—"

"You called Jan."

"Naturally. She told me that the hard copies were printouts of computer files Hank had kept, though not necessarily updated, going back fifteen years, and continually moved from one system to the next. She wasn't sure where the original media was, but give her a couple of hours and she'd find the latest backups. I received an updated file less than an hour later. It took a little while to eliminate all the codes from the remaining samples, but I now know which one went missing."

"And went missing deliberately," Tony said. "Otherwise the index wouldn't have been missing. Whose was the sample? Not you or Bruce or Hank himself?"

"No. But her name itself was memorable, as was she. Susan Storm. She was doing a Masters when I was in my freshman year."

Tony frowned to himself. The name was familiar. Someone else had mentioned it and not that long ago. Wait! "She was one of the crew of that nut Richards' backyard rocket that exploded in orbit," Tony said.

"Also his girlfriend, according to Jan."

"She had a brother."

"John. Lieutenant in the Air Force, seconded to NASA. Again, according to Jan."

"Astronaut training," Tony said, remembering.

"Do you think it's important?"

"I don't know," Tony said. "Was there anything special about Susan Storm?"

"Apart from being bright, beautiful, and blonde? She seemed nice. And sensible."

"Not to climb into Richards' spacecraft she wasn't!" Tony retorted. "I don't know what this is about, Betty, but it worries me. Don't talk about this beyond Jan and Hank."

"Army brat, remember? Research scientist on a top secret project. Yes, Tony, I know how to keep a secret."

"Please be careful. For Bruce's sake. And I can't afford to lose any of those few friends I have left."

Betty made a very unladylike noise. “So you take care of yourself too. Jan's worried about you."

"Iron Man, remember?"

"You're not invulnerable. Be careful, Tony. I'm beginning to suspect the rest of us are going to need you."

 

Steve, still confined to bed most of the time and to Thor's apartments when he was not, had little to do at first except study Thor, his mother and his friends.

Frigga might be Queen of Asgard, and its current ruler, but she was not a lady who stood on ceremony. What was more, she was perfectly willing to answer his questions. According to her, the poison had "stemmed the flow of your spirit" which was "slow to return to its full power."

Steve suspected that the drug stimulated the nervous system of the leaders of the Panther tribe and destroyed that of those without their genetic quirk. When he voiced this theory, Frigga smiled and said, "Close enough, Captain." He was still not sure whether or not she had been humouring him.

"I don't know how to thank you," Steve told her one day. "To be honest, I've no idea why you should risk your husband's anger for me."

Frigga smiled at him. "That my son would risk that wrath to save your life was enough to assure me that it was the right thing to do. Besides, Thor feels the loss of friends very deeply. I would not have him deal with that again, if it is within my power."

Assuming she was speaking of Loki, of whom she still appeared fond, Steve held back any further questions.

He saw little of Hogun (who was apparently known throughout Asgard as 'the grim'), who was mainly silent even when present. Fandral, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy his company, and continued to be informative and charming.

Volstagg ('the Voluminous' according to Fandral, whom Steve was not always inclined to believe) turned out to be full of entertaining stories of his own past, of Thor, Sif, Fandral, Hogun and sometimes Loki, though he never spoke that name without contempt. Yet Steve occasionally noticed a hesitation in the practiced flow, as if he was editing someone out of the narrative. He was also, Steve came to realise, as kind as he was large and that the insults he received from Thor, Fandral and Sif were simply affectionate teasing.

The Lady Sif was more enigmatic, and treated Steve with a reserve he put down to his Midgardian status. Her eyes were most often on Thor, whom she regarded with a mixture of exasperation, fondness and respect that reminded Steve uncomfortably of Pepper's attitude to Tony.

Thor seemed oblivious.

 _Not my business,_ Steve told himself. _Nothing in Asgard is._

Only Thor had made Earth and, and Steve himself, his business.

Steve sighed and, laid down the charcoal and not-paper on which he had been drawing, leaning back into the pile of cushions at the raised end of the recliner that Thor and Hogun had installed beneath a transparent canopy on a balcony that thrust out towards the sparkling sea. 

The view was glorious – and he hated it. It was at once too similar to and too different from the one from the roof of Stark Tower, as if he was looking at Manhattan through a distorting mirror. The tall buildings and the stretches of water were what gave the place that disturbing familiarity, but the scale of Asgard was... colossal. Nor was Manhattan surrounded by rocky crags that looked almost as high as the Alps without either their white tops or green valleys.

Steve had no idea where the Asgardians had their farms and factories, and no ships sailed the bright seas or aircraft flew the skies, carrying trade goods.

Yet the city was built by a technology far beyond his comprehension, and there were no shortages of food or water or energy or anything a man or woman or even a god might require.

Magic?

Tony would hate that.

And this was the worst thing about Asgard: that it had no Tony in it.

Steve glanced at his drawing, at the outline of the city that he had abandoned, at the sketches of Sif and Fandral, and at the more detailed drawing of Tony, done easily from memory. It worried him that he'd tried, over the last few days, to draw Peggy and Bucky, but never seemed to get them quite right, as if his memory of them was fading with time.

He closed his eyes against the pain, blocking out the strange skies.

And he was back, once again, on that train snaking through the Alps, and Bucky's face was suddenly vivid, mouth open in the scream that still haunted Steve, as he fell, all too slowly, away into...

Darkness. Like a camera shutter dropping.

And it was the Red Skull's grinning skeletal head that was eaten by the blue-white lightning of the Tesseract, atom by atom, until its seething white column was pink streaked by blood and flesh as it burned upwards, carrying what remained of the Skull into the blackness of interstellar space, where stars and galaxies... swirled and the red skin peeled away into red flesh, atom by atom.

Darkness.

His mother's face, worn and tired and old before her time, lifeless, her hand going cold in his.

Darkness.

And now it was Tony – Iron Man – riding the missile into the Tesseract vortex, falling helpless through the sky, lying on the ground, the ARC reactor black and silent, his face still and pale.

Darkness.

And it was Tony again, and the temple of the Panther God—

No.

_No!_

He came awake with a shout, lashing out at his enemies, but the hands that held his wrists were bands of vibranium steel.

Overhead, black wings flapped in the air; a harsh bird call seemed, almost, to have laughter in it. 

"Hold! I am not an enemy."

It was a woman's voice.

He lowered his eyes from the sky, and met those of the Lady Sif. "Fuc—" He bit off the curse. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I thought all that was over. But you mustn't – I mean..." he faded out as she let him go. After all, she was an Asgardian, a god.

"Bad memories?" she asked, and it did not occur to him until much later that it was strange she used that word instead of 'dreams'.

He nodded.

She moved to the edge of the balcony looked out into the sky, shading her eyes with her hand. For a moment she was still, then she turned and smiled at him, though it did not reach her eyes. "All warriors have bad memories, and according to Thor you are Midgard's greatest warrior."

"I'm a soldier," Steve replied. "I was a runt, a sick weakling, until I was enhanced by science." He winced at the memory, of Tony's words, "Everything special about me is... a result of that enhancement."

"There is no science or magic that can enhance the spirit. And Thor also says that yours is the greatest he has known, and he is not prone to exaggeration – at least, not about anything that pertains to the assessment of a warrior."

"I'm still human," Steve said. "No more courageous than any other. Unenhanced friends have always fought beside me, did what I did, against the same enemies."

"As the Warriors Three and I have fought beside Thor, who could defeat all four of us at once, plus a small army. Perhaps Midgardians are not so different."

"You mean apart from the immortality and the powers," Steve said wryly.

Sif gave him a very strange look.

"If you had been human," he elaborated, "I could have hurt you badly when you woke me just now. Maybe even killed you.”

"Many things can kill. You say you were enhanced by science. Did you choose to be a soldier, or did others choose for you?"

"He – they offered. It was my choice."

"At least someone made you the offer. No one gave me the choice of being a warrior. I had to fight for it, though Frigga and Thor and— Eventually they supported me, if reluctantly. Frigga herself taught me to wield a sword."

Steve had noticed the hesitation and his curiosity finally overcame him. "Lady Sif, forgive me if I give you any offence by asking but, sometimes, when Volstagg is talking, it feels as if there is an empty place in his stories. At first I thought that place was Loki's, but he still speaks of him. And now you're doing the same thing. It's someone else, isn't it? Someone who was very close to Thor. Frigga said something about the loss of a friend..."

"Thor is right about you." She hesitated, then plainly made up her mind. "You are right, but do not speak of it to Thor, I beg you. His dearest friend, the very best of us, vanished many years ago, so long that, even in Asgard, all hope is gone. I think, perhaps, he sees something of that old grief in you and your friend Anthony Stark. He is most anxious to reunite you. And to return to Midgard to be reunited himself with Jane Foster."

_Oh._

"I won't speak to him of anything I've been told, or guessed," Steve said.

"Thank you for that."

He had so few friends, and he wanted, strongly, to be friends with this woman. And he didn't have much time. Perhaps it was worth the risk,

"It's hard to be in love with a friend who is in love with someone else," Steve said. Ignoring her glare, he added, wryly, "I should know."

If she wanted to assume he only meant himself, she could do so. But he hoped she might share her feelings as he was sharing his. 

"Oh." After a moment, though, Sif's frown turned to a smile. "It is of no moment. Thor and I have been lovers in the past and will be again. He and Jane will have their time together but when she dies of old age, he and I will still be young."

"I wish I could say the same," Steve said tiredly.

 

Tony stood in the parking lot of the Stark Industries complex, now shared with Stark Energy and Stark Special Projects, watching the contrails spread and cross and fade. The last of his designated engineers had flown out in the last hour, some on commercial flights from Sea-Tac, others on rented aircraft from Boeing Field. If anyone had been watching for departures from the Stark-Seattle airfield they were going to be disappointed. So were government agents (and others) searching for the power units containing the natural vibranium cores that would bring the ARC generators to life – and more – in key sites around the world. Those were in the repulsor-powered transporters, masked by stealth technology and piloted by Jarvis. Both transporters and the units themselves were keyed to each installation engineer's fingerprints and retinal patterns. It should keep the technology – and the engineers – safe.

If it hadn't been for T'Challa's gift he would still have been waiting for enough fuel to be manufactured. He wondered how much the King of Wakanda knew or had guessed of his purpose. Too much, possibly.

It was all in motion now.

The beginning.

He could not yet foresee the end, if there was one.

His phone broke into his thoughts with the opening riff from _Kiss of the Spider-woman_.

He pulled it out of his pocket in a mixture of relief and apprehension. "Hello, Nat."

"You have the knack of being the entire continent away when I need you," Natasha said. "Reception tells me that there is a visitor in the lobby who says you invited him to drop in any time for a drink."

"Then I must have done, mustn't I? Got a photo for identification from the security feed?"

"On its way to you."

Tony looked down at the face that appeared a moment later and frowned. It was familiar but not immediately identifiable. "I'm not— Oh, wait. Of course. It's Coulson's grandfather. At least, that's who he said he was at the funeral. Whether or not that's true, I had him tagged as an agent, for SHIELD or for something military. But turns out I'm not good at spotting those. Not even when I'm living with one."

Natasha swore in Russian. "And you invited him for a drink?"

"Sure. He'd supplied me with one when I really needed it. I hate dry funerals – or anything dry come to that. Except dry Champagne. And gin. But Champagne is better for celebrating the death of your enemies. I'm really looking forward to Hammer's. D'you know if this guy really is Coulson's grandad?"

"I have no idea," Natasha admitted.

"Then invite him up, feed him my best Bourbon – which appears to be his drink of choice – and try to find out. Or maybe you'd better get Jan to do it."

"Dr Henry Pym arrived back this afternoon. He and Jan have retired to their quarters and hung a metaphorical 'Do Not Disturb Unless the World is Ending' notice on the door. A pity Potts is no longer here. Watching her talk to him would be ideal."

"Steve would have been even better. This guy claims to have known Chester Phillips. Phillips was—"

"I know who Phillips was. Clint and I will deal with this. When are you going to be back?"

"I don't know. There are things I have to clear up here. Maybe a week or so."

"Make it sooner," Natasha said. "Romanoff out."

Tony stared at his phone. "It's a cell, Romanoff, not radio," he pointed out to the empty air. "Stark out," he announced to no one in particular, took one more look at the fading contrails, and headed back to where he had left the armour.

 

The Iron Man flew south, following the California coast, the stars bright above and the sea and cliffs dark below, the lights of cities and houses streaking by to his left, with only the very occasional flash of navigation lights to relieve the blackness to his right.

Tony was regretting his decision to base himself in Malibu. The long flights from New York or Seattle left him with far too much time to think. There was only so much planning he could do, so many calls he could make, so many calculations he could work through with Jarvis, until his mind moved, inevitably, to all his regrets.

He should never have tried for a relationship with Pepper. He'd only done that once before – but that disaster was best forgotten, had been forgotten. He had been betrayed then, just as he had been betrayed now. But this mess was partly his fault too. He'd let Pepper manage him for years, because he hadn't wanted to bother, so he'd done what he found interesting, and left the rest to her and Obie. It wasn't surprising that, when he decided to face his responsibilities and take charge of his life and his company, she sought new ways of managing him – and it. Then, when, faced with his impending death, he'd offered her... well, everything ... it was no surprise that she'd grabbed it with both hands.

Pepper had changed when he'd made her CEO, just as he'd changed after the Ten Rings had kidnapped him. After the Battle of Manhattan they'd settled into new roles but he suspected that neither of them had recognised the changes in the other until it was too late.

And there had been Steve.

Who he still not dared think about too closely, but who was always in his thoughts.

 

The Los Angeles skyglow was visible ahead of him when red flashed bright to his right.

"Sir," Jarvis said urgently. "That was a distress flare from a Very gun."

But Tony had recognised it and was turning back. "Can you pinpoint the source?"

"About a mile behind us at five thousand feet. There is a radar contact, small and metallic."

"Let's go see."

 

Tony recognised the silhouette against the constellations easily enough; the four rotors on their frame around the single person cockpit were unique. It was one of the first things he had designed for Stark Industries. Originally built as a low-level military observation aircraft more than twenty years ago, it had become a staple for naturalists, hobbyists and stunt fliers.

It was moving slowly, in a wide spiral, one of the rotors plainly out of commission. Even as he watched, another feathered then cut out.

Tony dived, pouring on the power. He might just make it—

Then, barely a hundred feet above the beach, the engines caught and the aircraft came in for a perfect landing on the narrow stretch between the cliffs and the incoming tide.

Even as the pilot exited the aircraft and waved at Iron Man, now hovering above the sea, Tony was demanding "Is he armed, Jarvis?"

"I cannot detect any weapons, sir."

"Shields up, anyway. And stay alert." Plainly, the flare and the fake engine problems had been designed to attract his attention. Tony could only admire the pilot's skill, though he was deeply suspicious of his motives.

He landed within the circle of the helicopter's lights and said, "You wanted to talk to me?

"Score one to you, Stark." The voice was light and amused. Then the pilot took off her flying helmet, revealing a second helmet of bright blonde hair. Now she was standing close to Tony, her blue eyes met his on a level. She said, "I want to talk to you about James Rhodes."

"Uh-uh. Not my business. Rhodey made his position quite clear, just as I made mine."

Her face went blank. "I was told you were close friends – best friends," she said.

"Now, who gave you that idea?"

"Jim did."

Tony eyed her voluptuous figure, undisguised by the unisex flying suit. "Wow! The old— Wow."

Her expression said she knew exactly what he was thinking and that it didn't endear him to her. "Jim and I were at Flight School together. I'm Danvers. Colonel Carol Danvers."

"You were the one he was always complaining about," Tony said. The one who'd been his rival at Flight School and always a step ahead of him on the promotion ladder. "He never told me you were—"

"A woman?"

Tony grinned. "Yes. Nor that you were a gorgeous tall blonde. He knows my type. Are you and he--?" He waved his hands, "Because, you know, I don't poach..."

"None of your fucking business," Danvers told him. "And aren't you sorta engaged to your PA – sorry, your firm's CEO?"

"Rhodey told you that too? Well, as it happens, no, I'm not. In fact, even when we were together, marriage wasn't on the table." Or had it been? In Pep's mind, at least? "Not the marrying kind, any more than he is. So I can't help you catch him, babe."

Danvers' expression hadn't changed. She just stared him down until he paused to draw breath, then interrupted with, "I need to know where he is, Stark, because the Air Force isn't telling."

Tony's stomach lurched, an all too familiar feeling these days. "As far as I know he's in Nevada riding herd on a bunch of rookies."

"Damn stupid place for the Defence Department to send their one and only superhero, don't you think?" Danvers replied. "If Jim was there. But he isn't. When I couldn't contact him – either through official channels or on his cell – I wangled an inspection visit. I was told Jim was on a visit to the Academy in Colorado Springs, but the current Commandant is a friend of mine. He isn't there, and hasn't been there in the last few years."

"It could be a War Machine mission," Tony said lightly, though his heart rate was quickening.

"You built that suit. Don't try to tell me you don't have a way of tracking it."

Tony grimaced. "I did. But that went dark a few days ago, probably disabled by accident by engineers Rhodey let fiddle with the suit. Unless it was Valesco... I had an upgrade prepared, but then Rhodey and I had words." He shrugged.

"What about?"

Tony sighed and wished he'd kept the faceplate closed. "It's complicated. The Pentagon was trying to use Rhodey to influence me – because we'd been friends since MIT – it was why they originally appointed him as liaison to Stark Industries, I guess, and explains some of the questions he was asking on their behalf."

"He's a serving officer, Stark. He's under orders."

"That's what Stev— It doesn't matter. I can't give him what he wants. Or what you want, Colonel, though in your case it's because I don't know. Unless, of course, this is a fishing expedition on behalf of the military who've finally noticed my weakness for beautiful blondes."

Danvers grinned at him. "I'll remember that's the case. But this isn't official. In fact, if anyone finds out I'm talking to you about Jim, I'm in deep shit. You have resources no one else has, Stark. Will you look for him?"

"Of course." Tony's eyes narrowed. "I may ask for a favour in return, though?"

"You aren't my type, Stark."

"Pity. It'll have to be information, then. You ever encounter a Lt Storm? John Storm."

"Not that I recall."

"He's in astronaut training at NASA."

"Oh. In that case, I might just be able to help. I used to be Chief Security Officer there. Of course, if you're asking me to breech security there..."

"It's nothing to do with either the Air Force or NASA. If you can find Storm, ask him why anyone would want to steal his sister's DNA."

Danvers blinked. "That is a very odd question," she pointed out. "Have you asked his sister?"

"I would if I could, but she's, y'know, dead. Very dead. Blown to little pieces in a vacuum dead."

"And there isn't anything deader. Except that line of enquiry."

Tony closed the faceplate. "I'll be in touch," he said. Then he opened the faceplate again. "Oh, one last thing," he added, trying for Peter Falk as Columbo and just missing. "How the hell did you know I'd be here at this time?"

"Twitter," Danvers told him, with a straight face. "Hashtag 'herospot'."

Tony was laughing as he rose into the air and headed for Malibu.

 

Steve was woken from sleep by a hand on his arm.

"Hogun?"

"Do you think you can walk a mile and three eighths or so?" It was at moments like this that Steve was reminded that the Asgardians were speaking a different language. The Allspeak was sometimes too literal and sometimes too vague.

"Yes," he said, though he was by no means sure. "What's wrong?"

Hogun unwrapped the bundle he was carrying and spread the contents over the end of the bed. "Change into these. Quickly."

"What's happened?" Steve asked, shouldering his way into a silk shirt.

"Odin has returned unexpectedly. He's summoned Thor and Frigga to the throne room. We need to return you to Midgard right now."

"Why?" Steve asked as, without asking or being asked, Hogun began helping him with the unfamiliar clothing. "What do you think he'll do?"

"We don't know. But you are here against his edict – and alive because his son and his wife disobeyed his orders. The sword goes like this. Don't draw it unless you know how to use it." He stood back and looked at Steve assessingly. "Get those boots on and then I'll trim your beard. 

Steve glanced sideways at the long green cloak lying on the bed and said, "Are you trying to disguise me as Fandral?"

"The best choice. Volstagg the Valiant is on watch. When we leave it will be as the Warriors Three."

The long boots slid onto his legs as if made specifically for them. "You're avoiding the issue. Why am I running – not that I could run even if Loki himself was chasing me? Should I be scared of what Odin may do to me – or Thor?"

"Yes," Hogun said, as he waxed his fingers, then pulled Steve's short untidy beard into a semblance of Fandral's. "He could even send you on to Valhalla, on the basis that you died here."

Steve was startled. "Kill me, you mean?"

Hogun shrugged. "Ask the Valkyries to take you. But Frigga and Thor think not. They believe, given your prowess as a warrior, that Odin will confine you to Asgard. I have been charged with getting you to Midgard first."

"Won't that get you into trouble too?"

Hogun shrugged again. "I am obeying my liege lord," he said and held out a hand to haul Steve to his feet.

 

It was the first time that Steve had seen Asgard from outside Thor's apartments. On the balcony or looking out through the windows, the gargantuan towers had always gleamed golden against a sky that never seemed to change, a red sun low on one horizon, the stars and galaxies bright in a black sky on the other, blue streaked with fine white clouds overhead, with the sea sparkling beyond and the rainbow bridge a dazzling streak between water and sky. The weather had always been perfect. Now, though, everything was masked in something between drizzle and mist. The cloak hood which shadowed his face was a perfectly natural protection against the weather, but with the huge bulk of the giant Volstagg on his right and the stony-faced Hogun glaring about him on his left masking him from passers-by no one was likely to notice that one third of the Warriors Three was a ringer. And if either of his companions reached out to steady him at each exact moment he needed that support, well, that was also hidden by cloaks, mist and familiarity.

With the street deserted, Steve risked a comment: "This weather seems... convenient."

"Let us hope that this does not occur to Odin," was all Hogun said.

"Let us hope that Odin does not notice it at all," Volstagg agreed. "With Loki confined, he would not need to look far for a magician who could conjure this, not with the Lady Frigga standing before him."

 

As they stepped onto Bifrost, the mist vanished. When Steve had first heard about the Rainbow Bridge, he had pictured it as a true rainbow, with the seven colours arching into the sky. This, though, was flat, with thin lines of colour sparkling through frost, reaching out over the abyss to the golden dome with what looked like a giant sundial gnomon on top. From what Volstagg told him, this was Heimdall's observatory.

They had not gone more than fifty yards when the noise of hoofbeats behind them sent Hogun spinning, mace in hand, while Volstagg whirled with astonishing speed for a man of his bulk. Somehow, his axe was raised before he had completed the turn.

"Ho! Hogun!" The voice was Thor's.

There were three riders, and they drew up in a swirling group; Thor, on a tall red animal with a mane and tail that shone gold under the stars, the Lady Sif on the fiery black, and a green clad, green cloaked man on a pale grey that seemed to merge into the background of the fog that clothed the city. The latter leaped down, throwing back his hood to reveal himself as Fandral.

Without a word passing between any of them, Steve found himself hoisted onto the grey's back by Hogun and Volstagg. "Go!" Thor told the Warriors Three, as Steve desperately tried to get his feet into the stirrups.

Then Thor and Sif were galloping along the Bifrost and Steve's horse was galloping with them. Steve gripped the front of the saddle, wrapped his legs as far as they would go underneath the grey's belly and attempted to find his balance.

He hadn't managed it by the time the horses pulled to a halt just in front of the dome, Thor reaching out a hand to the grey's reins to reinforce herd instinct.

Steve was still trying to recover as Thor leaped down and tossed his reins to Sif, before reaching up to Steve, who slid down into his friend's waiting hands. Even then, his legs almost gave way under him.

Sif pulled the grey's reins over its head, and then looked down at Thor. "Are you sure you do not want me to accompany you?"

"I need you here," Thor said firmly. "To be the calm head and to keep my friends and my mother safe. Now, go, while you have time."

Sif gave a single nod. "Safe journey," she said, her voice neutral. Then the horses were galloping back over the bridge.

"Come, Steve. It is not much further," Thor said. "We still have a little time."

Beyond the door, a man in golden armour stood waiting on a raised dais at the centre of the Observatory, his eyes the same colour as his armour, his skin as dark as the abyss below the Bifrost. Thor strode towards him, with Steve drawn along in his wake.

"Greetings, Heimdall," Thor said. "I have need to use the Bifrost."

"Has Odin authorised that journey?" Heimdall asked, his voice so deep it seemed to shake the very floor beneath their feet.

Thor did not answer the question. He said, instead, "Steven needs to be with his friends, and I am bound by my sworn word to take him back to Midgard. Odin would have him imprisoned here, a punishment he does not deserve."

"And you, Odinson?"

"I have sworn to protect Midgard."

"And if Lord Odin strips you of your power for a second time?"

Thor pulled his hammer from his belt and tossed it into the air. "It appears I am still worthy. If not, I have friends on Midgard who will not turn me aside."

The golden eyes turned questioningly to Steve.

"He will be welcome," he answered. "Tony... Tony Stark has a place ready for him, if he needs it."

Heimdall turned back to Thor. "You are resolved on this?"

"Yes."

"Then step forward. I will send you where you need to go."


	20. On the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has unexpected visitors.

Because of the delay, which Tony uncharitably put down to Colonel Danvers, it was getting late by the time he arrived back in Malibu. His housekeeper and staff would have long since gone home, leaving the house spotless and the refrigerator full of food.

It was a relief to shed the armour and change into a clean tee and jeans, but there was no ignoring the realisation that this was no longer home. But Stark Tower hadn't felt like home, either, without Pepper and Steve.

He'd never believed that home was people, until now.

He opened the refrigerator door, looked at the choices available to him, winced, and went to pour himself a whisky.

Maybe he was drinking too much, but he didn't really care.

Falling into old habits, he made himself a vegetable smoothie (celery, carrot and spinach made for an odd and watery combination but he was past caring) and ordered up a hamburger with all the trimmings from a – reasonably – local restaurant.

Unfortunately, by the time it arrived he had completely lost his appetite.

So, when Jarvis announced that Clint Barton was calling from the Stark Tower, Tony felt nothing but relief.

"Hi, Legolas," he greeted, forcing cheerfulness into his voice. "Got something interesting to tell me? Is our Golden Oldie Agent Agent's granddad or an extra from _The Expendables_? Inquiring minds want to know."

"Jury's still out on that," Clint said. "I'm reduced to attempting internet genealogy with Jarvis's help. How sad is that?"

"Extremely," Tony said promptly. "Tried the Mormons yet? I'd love to think they'd posthumously recruited Coulson. Granddad still there?"

"Yeah. He and Nat are trying to drink each other under the table."

"My money's on Nat."

"Mine too – but looks like you're gonna have to restock."

"Sounds like it might be more economical to buy the distillery," Tony said.

"I'll drink to that idea," Clint responded. "But Stark, whether or not this guy is related to Coulson – and I think he may be – he's definitely fishing, whether it's for the government, SHIELD, Homeland Security or the Veterans' Association."

"You think?"

"Yeah, and he's really, really, really interested in meeting Cap. Well, his best chance of that is cashing in his own chips, which considering his apparent age might be sooner than he expects— What the hell was that?"

"That" was the clatter of hail against the windows, in a blast of wind so hard that Tony felt the building shiver.

"Weather's not so good. Looks like a storm coming in from the Pacific," Tony said. Then, into the silence: "Clint?"

It was Jarvis who answered. "We've lost contact, sir. The storm is giving off massive amounts of energy. The readings are off the scale." He paused, and Tony realised, with delight in his creation, that it was for effect. "The only parallel readings I can find were taken just outside the town of Puento Antiguo by Dr Jane Foster."

Tony dashed to the windows.

The sky was a roiling circle of black cloud shot through with lightning and rainbows and, in that intermittent light, he could see a whirlpool of white capped waves.

Tony caught his breath. He had seen something similar not that long ago and half the world away—

A tornado of light materialised, joining the centres of both circles and Tony imagined he could see figures within it...

And the sea parted, laying the beach bare.

Lightning struck – and in its light Tony could see figures materialising on the beach. Even as the light faded, waves crashed about them, then abruptly retreated, leaving them untouched, darker shadows against an angry wall of sea, battering at nothingness.

"Well, well, visitors from Asgard," Tony said out loud, trying to keep his voice steady, despite his heart thundering in his ears, his breathing quickening.

_Steve's dead. He was dead when Thor took him to Asgard._

If he allowed himself to believe otherwise, even for a few seconds, the disappointment would be...

_Unbearable._

"Jarvis, infra-red cameras on the new arrivals."

"Yes, sir."

Instantly, the dark window became a monitor screen, the warm humans bright against the darkness.

There were definitely only two people – gods, whatever – on the beach, one taller than the other, both glowing white against the darkness of the cold Pacific as the wind-driven breakers rolled on and parted for them. The shorter of the two men had a hood thrown up against the weather, or to conceal his identity, but the other was unmistakeable.

Thor.

"Jarvis, beach lights on. Open the door to the beach and send the elevator down, but hold it just above the lobby."

"Yes, sir."

"And activate internal security cameras."

 

"Was Heimdall joshing us?" Steve asked, as he and Thor trudged through the water-heavy sand towards the rocks at the base of the cliff.

"It is not impossible," Thor said. His hammer was whirling above his head, apparently to keep the waves at bay, but his other arm was around Steve's waist, helping him walk through a beach on the edge of becoming quicksand. "Do you know where we are?"

"Not in New York," Steve said. "Or Kansas, come to that."

"Kansas?"

"Never mind." Steve peered up at the high cliffs and the softly lit building that crowned them. "I don't... It could be Tony's house out on the West coast. I've seen pictures of it. Though not from this angle."

Suddenly, the cliff was illuminated, the edges of the rocks sharp against the shadows of the clefts and in the deepest of those shadows shone a brighter rectangle that could only be a door. 

"An invitation?" Thor asked, "Should we accept it?"

Steve thought about it. "If this one of Tony's houses then Jarvis – his computer butler – will be awake and aware of us, even if Tony himself is half a world away," he said. "Guess he recognised you."

"Then come. Let us reach this sanctuary before my arm grows tired."

 

Tony was watching the internal security feeds from the lobby that led to the beach when the two men stepped through the door, which Jarvis immediately closed behind them.

They were followed by a thunderous crash as the released waves pounded into the base of the cliff. A little water leaked under the door, but it held easily.

Thor – and there was no doubt about who he was now - thrust his hammer into his belt, though he did not move his hand far from it. His companion, who wore a green hooded cloak that hid his identity as securely as a mask would have done, lifted his head, revealing just a hint of dark blond beard, and raised a hand to signify caution.

"Jarvis?" he asked.

Even on the single word, there was no mistaking that voice. Tony had to hold onto the chair back because his knees were jelly and his pulse pounding in his ears, louder than the thunder and the waves. It seemed years since he had breathed.

"Welcome home, Steve," Jarvis was saying, even as the hood was shoved back. "Welcome, Prince Thor."

"Thank you, Jarvis. Is this Tony's house at Malibu?"

"Indeed it is." Without waiting Tony's order, Jarvis opened the doors to the elevator. "Mr Stark is waiting for you."

But Tony wasn't. He wasn't ready for this, for a Steve who had _died_ , who had stupidly, casually, as if his own life hadn't mattered, laid it down for Tony on a ridiculous chance and who was now riding up in his elevator as if nothing had happened, as if there hadn't been that horrible, endless gap in his own life when there was no hope left.

 

Steve was grateful for Thor's supporting hand as the elevator shot upwards.

_Tony. Tony was here._

It was only now that he really believed the assurances he had been given that Tony was still alive and that Heimdall would send them where they needed to go.

_Tony. Tony. Tony._

They emerged in front of a short flight of steps, which they ascended into a circular room so large it seemed to disappear into the distance. Steve had an impression of stunning modernity, of glass and marble, wood and steel, with the soft noise of falling water somewhere and a flicker of flame reflecting from the curving windows.

Tony, dressed in unrelieved black, was standing waiting for them, his usually mobile face impassive. Perhaps it was the sombre clothing or that Steve had not seen him for some days, but he looked unusually tired and pale.

Not to mention forbidding.

Steve's urge to rush towards him died.

"Thor," Tony said, with a slight nod. "Steve. Welcome to sunny California. I see you brought your own weather with you."

"My apologies," Thor said. "It was unavoidable."

" _You_ have nothing to apologise for," Tony said. 

Steve suddenly recognised that cold, focused expression on Tony's face. He'd not seen it often since the Helicarrier, when he had been its target. Tony was white because he was blazingly angry, though Steve had no idea why.

And, because he was who he was, he stepped forward to face that anger when all he wanted to do was run for cover. "Tony, thank god you've gotten back from Wakanda in one piece. Are T'Challa and Okoye okay?

Tony ignored him. "What the fuck did you think up were doing?" he snarled. "I thought you were over the committing suicide thing."

"I didn't—" Steve started to protest, pushed onto the defensive. He caught himself in mid sentence, aware that he was facing off against Tony in the way he had promised himself he never would again.

"You took fucking poison. A triple fucking dose."

"I had no choice!" Steve was not going to back down on that point.

"You had every damn choice!"

"Yeah, just as _you_ had with that nuke over Manhattan."

"Your actions put the population of Wakanda at risk," Tony snapped. "Mine saved one and a half million lives. What was more, I was wearing several million bucks' worth of battle armour. You had nothing. _Nothing!_ Not even your shield."

"I saved your life." It was the only thing that had mattered.

"Well, don't expect me to thank you." 

And, unexpectedly, that dismissal was what hurt most.

"I won't trouble you again," Steve said in a dull voice, turning away because he didn't want Tony to know how vulnerable he had become to his angry tongue, but his weakness betrayed him. He stumbled, and the scabbarded sword he was wearing somehow tangled with his legs, pitching him forward to crash to the floor, his head only just missing the flight of white marble steps that led to a ridiculous red concert grand, knocking the breath out of his body.

The next moment trembling hands lifted his head, and then pulled him into a hug so tight it hurt his ribs. He buried his face in Tony's shoulder and tried to believe he was real.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, babe," Tony was whispering into his hair, "but, God, you scared me. I thought you were dead – I knew you were dead – I can't..." Steve could feel his breath against his hair, followed by the touch of what could only be lips.

Tony was kissing his hair.

Instinct lifted Steve's head, so Tony's kisses landed on his forehead, then his lips.

The first kiss was soft, the sort of kiss Steve might have given his mother, the sister he had never had— but that changed as he kissed Tony back... 

The intensity of the feeling, of passion in the kiss shocked him even as he answered it, his tired body reacting with surprising speed. He hooked his right hand into Tony's hair, holding their mouths together because, though there was a small voice in his head telling him they shouldn't be doing this, he never wanted the kisses to end.

"Sir," Jarvis's voice said. "Prince Thor is about to leave."

Tony's head lifted away. "Thor – wait!"

Steve pressed his face into the curve of Tony's neck, drinking in his warmth, his scent, and the pulse-beat – so fast – against his cheek. He was beginning to remember why he should pull back, say something, make a joke out of it... but maybe he was dreaming again – he must be, surely – and letting go of the dream was as hard as letting go of Tony.

Besides, he was being held so tightly in the other man's arms that he couldn't break free without hurting him.

"You no longer need me here," Thor was saying.

Tony ignored him. "For this... for this, Thor, anything - _anything_ \- you want or need that I can give you is yours – except the armour, not that you need it but— Anyway, there's an apartment prepared for you, a whole floor in Stark Tower—"

"Steven has told me of this."

"Damn right. I don't know what else I can give you or what a god might possibly need—"

"Tony," Steve said, with a quick glance to where Thor was standing beside the door, watching them with fondness tinged with amusement. "Thor may be in exile from Asgard."

"Again," Thor said, with a quick smile. "Only this time I still seem to be worthy of my power."

"He defied Odin to save me, and to bring me back here," Steve insisted.

"Quiet, you," Tony growled. "It was your own damn fault that you needed him in the first place."

"I could not refuse aid to my shield brothers. But it was my mother who saved him," Thor said. 

"And if she was here I'd say the same things to her," Tony told him. "Meanwhile, are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"I would not say no to meat and ale," Thor admitted. "Your hospitality would be most welcome, but I have to find Jane."

"Jarvis, guide Thor through to the kitchen and order whatever he wants. There's plenty to snack on while he's waiting for delivery. In fact, see if the hamburger and fries are salvageable. We have beer, Thor, but Erik Selvig said to tell you they have beer too. In New Mexico. Lots of it. Though I can't vouch for the quality. Jarvis, get Dr Jane Foster on the phone so Thor can talk to her and make his apologies for not taking time out to go see her on his last two visits in between battling aliens and gods..."

"This way, Prince Thor," Jarvis said. "Follow the light."

Thor's laughter faded into a silence that lasted far too long.

Steve didn't dare move, didn't dare say anything. His fingers were still tangled in Tony's hair, and his lips bruised and tingling from the kiss, the taste of Tony's tongue lingering on his.

Then, "Come on, let's untangle you," Tony said. "I tell you, Steve, I'm going to throw a big time fancy dress party, invite the press, and make you wear this outfit – why are you wearing a fucking sword, anyway?"

"I was disguised as Fandral," Steve said, not sure whether he was going to laugh or cry.

"What's a Fandral?"

Steve decided to laugh but he was confused enough for it to come out of a giggle. "One... of the Warriors Three."

Tony groaned and shook his head. "I asked for that, didn't I? Come on, stir your bones, old man." Somehow or other, he unfastened the sword-belt and, leaving the sword propped against the wall, hauled Steve to his feet and half-carried him to the master bedroom.

 

The bed was huge. Tony had had it specially built and the bedding had to be tailored for it. Pepper had always said it made her feel like a Hollywood starlet sleeping her way to the top, and Tony had always responded with "casting couches are smaller." Now he pulled back the corner of the sheets and sat Steve down on the edge of the bed. "What's with the face fuzz?" he asked, rubbing a thumb against Steve's upper lip. He frowned. "Fuck it, that moustache is waxed."

"I was disguised."

"As a warrior, strength level three. Hercule Poirot is not a look that suits you. Captain America needs the clean shaven, strong jawed—" He was silenced by Steve's mouth on his, but took his revenge by pushing Steve onto the bed and straddling his hips, feeling a fierce satisfaction at the lack of resistance – and the evidence that Steve was already half hard. Driven by a mixture of desire and relief and anger he ground their groins together, kissing him hard and deeply. Steve seemed startled for a moment, but kissed back with equal passion—

Then suddenly he turned his head away, shoving at Tony's shoulders. "We didn't... oughta be doing this..." he panted.

Tony lifted himself on his elbows and peered down at him. "Why not?" he asked. "I mean, there are all sorts of reasons why not, but you've been pretty enthusiastic until... What is it then? Sudden attack of 1940s' morality? 

"No."

"A rush of internalised homophobia?"

"Don't know what that means. But you shouldn't be doing this."

"Steve, I am old enough to know when I should or should not be making out with someone – someone who, until now, seemed pretty damn enthusiastic about making out with me."

"I... Yes, but... you shouldn't... there's Pepper."

Tony let out a huff of relief. "Oh, I guess you couldn't... Wow, you were still kissing me even though you thought..." He took a deep breath. "Pepper – that's over – finished – kaput."

"I don't understand."

"She was working for SHIELD, supplying them with information about me and you and Stark Industries. Had been for years."

"I don't... Does she know? I mean... that you've—?"

"Broken with her? Oh, she knows." Tony said grimly.

Steve looked puzzled, but his body relaxed beneath Tony's. "Sorry," he said.

Unfortunately, Tony was remembering all the very good reasons why he shouldn't seduce Steve, right now or possibly ever. "No, you were right. I shouldn't be doing this."

"Because you're still mad at me?"

Thanking whatever power was looking out for genius billionaires for that ready-made excuse, Tony said, "Yeah. And because I came close to having to carry you here. And because you were dead a short time ago."

_And because I'm either old enough to be your father or young enough to be your grandson. And because you're acting way out of character – hell, you were so disinterested in anyone in New York that I almost had you tagged as asexual, despite Peggy Carter – and because I may, just, you know, be on the rebound from Pepper. I don't think so, but maybe I'm not the right person to judge. And because of all of that I'm not going to risk one of the best friendships I've ever had. I've lost everyone else. I won't lose you too._

 

 _What the hell did I do?_ Steve thought, as Tony got to his feet, smoothed his hair where Steve had ruffled it, and said, "Let's get you out of these clothes and into bed." He unclipped the fastenings of Steve's jacket – jerkin – Steve wasn't sure of the correct name, eased Steve's arms out of it and laid it aside, then began to unlace the shirt.

This wasn't the way Steve had fantasised about Tony undressing him; this was quick and efficient and almost ... but not quite ... indifferent.

Once the shirt was draped over the back of a chair on top of the jacket, Tony knelt to pull off Steve's boots, then reached to unbuckle his belt. "How does this work? Oh, nice. Invisible and intangible Velcro. Good trick, Asgard." Then Tony was pulling at his waistband and stripping him naked.

"Come on, into bed." Tony sounded breathless, as he pulled back the covers. 

Steve was trying to hold Tony's gaze, so was caught by surprise as the covers were heaved over him. 

"Jarvis, dim the lig—"

Steve reached out and grabbed Tony's wrist, intending to pull him down on the bed, but the expression on the other man's face stopped him cold. He said, "Tony. I don't want to be alone here. You don't have to— Please, just stay." 

"Steve, I shouldn't—" Tony hesitated, then toed off his sneakers and flopped down on the bed, close to Steve but on top of the covers. "Okay. But no sex – no kissing even – tonight. We'll talk things over tomorrow," he added as he reached out and purloined one of the pillows.

Once Tony was settled in, Steve shoved the covers back to waist level and rolled towards him, so they were almost, but not quite, touching.

For a few minutes, though it seemed far longer, it felt horribly awkward, with both men stiff and unmoving, trying not to touch. Then Tony said, "Okay. I guess neither of us is going to get any sleep like this," reached out and settled Steve's head against his shoulder, then wrapped his arms loosely around him.

Steve snuggled as close as he could. He'd huddled for warmth in the Alpine cold with members of the Howling Commandos often enough, and been grateful for the protection of battledress and blankets, for the most part. Now he was naked, the sheets smooth and sensuous against his skin, as was Tony's T-shirt against his cheek. Not as sensuous though, as Tony's calloused hands on his back, skin on skin, the softer brush of the hair on his arms, his own skin ultra-sensitive to every touch, every small movement magnified, each nerve ending seemingly connected straight to his groin. He was suddenly very glad that the lower part of his body was hidden under the sheets.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Shhh. Go to sleep."

And that was surprisingly easy to do.

 

But, despite his exhaustion, sleep would not come to Tony.

Saying "No sex" to Steve had been easy. Ignoring his own physical reactions was not. Damn it, he'd had this under control. Until tonight. Until he'd been shown, in no uncertain terms, that Steve – who was alive! Alive! Thank all the gods of Asgard – that Steve was willing – had wanted – to have sex with him.

_God, that was a turn on._

_Too much of a turn on._

Very carefully, Tony untangled himself from Steve, climbed off the far side of the bed and limped awkwardly into the bathroom. Once there unzipped his fly and hurriedly jerked himself to orgasm in a few quick strokes, then leaned against the tiles and tried to catch his breath.

When he raised his head to look at his reflection in the mirrored wall he realised his face was tear-stained.

_How had that happened? Fuck it, this was embarrassing. Had Steve noticed? Had Thor?_

At least Thor would have left by now, in search of his Jane, and staying in bed with Steve, even with cloth barriers between them, was too fucking much of a temptation. He needed coffee, at least, with maybe a large shot of brandy.

Kitchen, then, once he had cleaned up.

 

Tony padded into the kitchen in stockinged feet, but even so Thor turned his head before he was through the open door, and put down the glass he was holding. "Anthony. How is our shield brother?"

"He's asleep," Tony said, recovering from his surprise. "Tell me truthfully, Thor – is he going to recover? I mean fully recover?"

"He should be at his full strength within a few days, according to my mother. For the moment, though, he needs your care rather than your anger."

"I have a right to be angry. He... he deliberately committed suicide on the smallest of chances that I might live for a few more hours."

Thor's expression was sympathetic. "Or that, given the opportunity, you would extract yourself from the situation. As you did," he said. "He also convinced Bast to dissolve the magic that hides its country, which saved his life and, I suspect, many others. And I must thank you for trusting me on so little hope."

"I didn't have any; I was sure he was dead," Tony said. "You caught me at a weak moment – I was ready to clutch at any straw."

Thor's expression was grave: "In Asgard, he came close to choosing death – and it was your name that called him back to life."

Tony tried to suppress the warmth that rose through him, but it was impossible. The memory of Steve's kisses – a little unskilled but warm and passionate – banished the remnants of his anger.

_He came back for me._

"Sit." Thor had somehow teleported to stand next to Tony to place a hand on his shoulder without him noticing. Now that hand pressed down and Tony's already wobbly knees gave under the pressure, but there was a chair waiting for him.

_Had Thor moved that, too? Probably by telekinesis._

"Drink." Thor put a glass into his hands.

Tony looked down into light brown depths.

"It is good beer," Thor said. "Drink."

Tony raised the glass in a toast that was less mocking than he had originally intended and took a hearty swig. It was good.

"Eat," Thor said, placing a plate with chunks of bread, slices of rare beef, and cheese in from of him, a knife and fork precariously balanced in between the food. "This is good too," he added, moving butter, mustard and mayonnaise to where Tony could easily reach them.

"You're as obnoxious as Steve with the orders," Tony said, putting his glass on the table and reaching for the butter.

"Even more so, I suspect, as I have had far more years of command," Thor replied. "Far, far more years than he, or you, have been alive, though I am still young by the standards of my people." He sat down beside Tony. "But old enough to recognise love in all its forms when I encounter it. Until tonight I wondered both whether you were aware of the Captain's feelings and if you returned them. No longer. But you are troubled when you should be happy."

Tony took a long swig of beer, uncomfortably aware of Thor's keen gaze.

Was he being judged?

And did Thor have to use that damn L-word?

"I am happy," he protested. "I have Steve back. I also have you back. I just... lost my cool. There are too many reasons... I will not have him die again for me. And I'm lousy at relationships, Thor. I fall for the wrong people or I lose them, and it's always my fault. I can't do that to Steve."

"Such arrogance."

"What?" Tony glared at him.

"I am very familiar with arrogance," Thor added.

Tony thought about it for all of two seconds. "Oh, yeah. Loki," he said wisely.

Thor shook his head. "Me. Though it appears to be common to the sons of Odin." He folded his huge hands around Tony's on the beer glass. "The love between warriors – shield brothers and sisters – is a thing I have experienced more than once. But the first... He was less than fifty years older than I, a great warrior, the bravest of us all, and the best of Asgard. He was dearer to me than any other. Then one day he was gone, and no one knew how or where. We – the Warriors Three and Loki and I searched for him – but that was many years ago. My regret, which I hold to this day, is that I never shared his bed, never dared to act or ask. I do not think he would have refused me, but I chose for him. You understand what I am saying?"

"That if I don't take the risk with Steve I'll regret it."

"You both will regret it. For however long you live; one day or a thousand years. I know you are a man to take risks but this is not one. From what I have seen, Steven is as committed to you as I am to Jane."

"You waited specifically to say this to me," Tony said, in revelation. "Because you're taking the same risk."

"And because you and Steven are my shield brothers, and I wish you every happiness, for as long or as short a time as you have together."

"It's not that simple, Thor."

"Such things are only complicated if you make them so. Or do you have another lover who would object?"

"I had. No longer."

"Then take your happiness while you may." Thor rose to his feet. "I will come to your tower when I can and perhaps Jane will come with me. Now, though, I must make my peace with her. As you must with Steven."

 

When Thor had gone, Tony put a couple of shots of brandy in a big mug of black coffee and sugared it heavily, then made his way back to the master bedroom where he sat watching Steve sleep, sipping at the alcohol-laced coffee and trying to decide what he should do. 

An hour passed and he still had not made a decision, did not have a plan of action.

And all he wanted to do was to crawl into the bed beside Steve and sleep in his arms. Instead, he lay back in the reclining chair, told Jarvis to "Call me at dawn, but be careful not to wake Steve," and let himself drift into sleep.

 

Steve came awake in an unfamiliar room flooded with sunlight. Instead of the lowering towers of Asgard – or New York – the window wall looked out onto sky and sea and it was, at least, an Earth sky, pale blue, hazy and crossed with contrails. Sunlight sparkled from wave crests and there were ships making their way to and from port, honest to God modern ships like those he had seen every day from the windows of Stark Tower.

Then the memories flooded back. He was in the Malibu house – Tony's house – Tony...

He reached out, but he was alone in the huge bed.

Steve sat up abruptly and flung the covers aside.

"There's a robe on the chair," Tony's voice said. "If you want to preserve your modesty."

Tony was lounging in an Eames chair close to the windows, a tablet on his lap, peering at Steve over the top of the reading glasses that he had given up pretending he didn't need.

"I thought you'd seen all there was to see last night," Steve retorted, hoping he wasn't blushing.

"Yeah. Sorry about that. Sorry about everything, really."

It occurred to Steve that he could not remember the word 'sorry' coming so easily to Tony's lips. Pondering this, he slid out of bed, hesitated, then pulled on the scarlet robe and tied the belt firmly. He could feel Tony's eyes following him, and turned, resolutely, to face him. "You'd better not mean that," he said. "Because you didn't do anything I didn't want."

Tony considered. "Okay, I enjoyed the view. A lot."

"And the kisses."

"I cannot tell a lie; those too."

Steve felt a rush of relief. All Tony's wild emotion of the night before seemed to have retreated, leaving the familiar teasing affection, though there was a reserve in both his voice and expression, even in his position beneath the windows, as far from the bed as he could decently sit, that Steve hadn't seen for some time.

He thought back to last night and the way Tony hadn't really explained anything. Unsure of what to do or say, he made himself look away from Tony, and it was then he saw the familiar roundel in its still unfamiliar colours propped against the wall. He knelt and took the shield in his hands, savouring the heft and balance. "I left this in New York."

"Yeah. Well, I thought it might be safer here with me. It was in the underground vault until last night, but I thought you might feel better if it was here when you woke up."

Steve ran his hand once more round the edge of the shield, then put it back against the wall. "Not half as much as you being here does." He moved to stand looking down at Tony, aching to lean over and kiss him, but not sure whether it would be allowed. Instead, he folded to his knees beside the chair, so that he was no longer threatening – or tempted – and their eyes were nearly on a level. "Thank you, Tony. For everything. And you had every right to be angry." 

"Yes, I did," Tony said. "And I'll still be very angry unless you promise me you won't do that ever again."

"What again?" Though Steve knew.

"Deliberately give your life for mine. No." He put his fingers on Steve's lips. "Hear me out. _Don't._ " he added as Steve kissed them. "I won't have it, Steve. I'm a middle-aged ex-arms manufacturer with a machine in my chest keeping my body alive. I've wasted most of my life and now I'm on borrowed time. You're young and talented and a hero and so many things I'm not, and you haven't had the chance to live: depression era slum kid, impoverished student, soldier in wartime, man out of time with PTSD, mourning his past. So..." He slid his fingers sideways to stroke Steve's cheek, ruffling the short beard. "Promise me."

"I can't," Steve whispered, trying to find the words to explain when the simple touch set his guts churning and his heart thundering . "I can't, Tony. I need you. I don't mean sexually – though I want... to... I'm—" He shook his head and tried again. "You're my anchor. Without you, I'd be even more lost than I was in the ice. Everyone I... knew... is gone. I couldn't face that a second time, Tony. Could not. You've made me want to go on living here and now – but only if you're here. I need you," he repeated, hating the note of desperation creeping into his voice.

Tony was looking... stunned? "Christ, Steve. That's... Look, you think I don't— I know exactly what it's like to lose you, and that's been the worst... It's been worse than being tortured in a cave in Afghanistan, worse than dying of lithium poisoning, worse than falling through space, worse than finding out Pepper had betrayed me, worse than anything. If you care about me at all, Steve, you won't put me through this again. Please."

It was not an argument Steve could deal with right now, but it told him something astonishing about Tony's feelings for him. He said: "If you feel like that, why did you reject me last night?" and if his voice wobbled a little, it was no more than Tony's had done.

Tony looked horrified. "I'm not rejecting you, for God's sake, but, look... Just how much fucking experience – sexual experience – do you have?"

Steve was silent, his head turned away from Tony. Plainly, the answer had been all too obvious last night.

"That little, huh? Thank God you stepped on the brakes when you did. I could have hurt you – or at least shocked you badly."

Now Steve faced him. "You would never hurt me."

Tony shook his head. "Boy, I never thought you were delusional. What happened to that eidetic memory? I've lost count of how many times I've hurt you – you make me so angry, sometimes. I hurt you last night. Thor took me to task for it. Gently, but, yeah, he did."

"Did he warn you off? Is that what this is about?"

"Did he—? Fuck, no. He told me to seize the day, sorta. But he's not human, Steve, and he doesn't know either of us, not really. I doubt he understands what 'playboy' means, or the things I've done to earn the rep as a fuck and forget kinda guy."

"If that's what you want, I'm good," Steve said, though every word cost him. "It needn't change anything else."

Tony shook his head. "You can't be that physically intimate with someone you already... care about... without it changing things. It changed things with Pep, believe me. Last night... we were high on adrenaline and relief. You – we – need time to think, to decide if what we have now is enough, or whether we want to... take that risk. Now, go and have a shower, or a bath. Borrow my razor and get rid of the beard."

"You don't like the beard?" Steve asked, with a grin to cover aching disappointment.

"You don't have the right evil overlord face for it. Though according to Rule 35 a goatee makes even the right face look like disaffected member of Generation X."

"Huh?"

"Look it up. Evil Overlord List. It's very educational. If Loki or your old foe the Red Skull had read it we might not be here now. Meanwhile, go take that shower and I'll make you breakfast."

" _You_ will make me _breakfast_?"

"Yeah, even I can pour Cheerios into a bowl. Off you go." Tony gave Steve a slap on the rear and made his own exit before Steve could contemplate retaliation.

 

Once in the bathroom, Steve tried to locate Jarvis's speaker, failed, and said, plaintively, "Jarvis?"

"Present, as always, Steve."

"I take it my cell's still in New York. Can you monitor it?"

"The battery is currently in need of recharging," Jarvis said, "but I am monitoring the number. I have record of fifteen texts and eleven voicemail messages, mainly where you have missed an appointment. However, Ms Potts has left several messages asking you contact her."

"Oh." Steve hesitated. "Was this before or after Tony came back to New York?"

"Do you mean before or after Mr Stark confronted Ms Potts over her involvement with SHIELD?" Jarvis sounded very dry, very ironic, very _human_ at that moment.

"After?" Steve guessed.

"Just so. She has been trying to reach you ever since."

Tony had tried to make light of Pepper's betrayal – if it really was a betrayal – but it must have been traumatic for both of them.

_All the same, she must know I'm not going to take her side over this? Unless..._

Steve took a deep breath and straightened his spine. "Then I guess I'd better call her. Get her on the phone for me, Jarvis."

"At once, Steve."

 

In less than thirty seconds, Pepper's voice said, with an air of astonishment: _"Steve?"_

"Yeah. Hi, Pepper. You wanted to talk to me?"

"Steve! It is you! I thought something awful had happened to you. You didn't answer your phone and Tony was acting so strangely whenever anyone mentioned you, I suspected— Have you spoken to Tony yet? He's in Seattle, mainly."

"Yes, but we're both in Malibu right now."

There was pause while Pepper digested that 'we're both' and its implications. Then she asked, "Has he told you—?"

"That you two have broken up? Yes."

"And I suppose he told you that I betrayed him." Pepper's tone was bitter. "That I was some sort of agent working for SHIELD?"

Steve saw no way to soften his reply, and he didn't think she would want him to. "Yes. Is that true?"

Pepper was silent for a moment, then she said, "Only partially. SHIELD asked me to help them protect Tony – right from the start that was what Phil did. I just gave them enough help to keep him alive, or to try to keep him alive. I let them know where he was, what his plans were. But I didn't betray him, Steve. I just tried to... to keep him safe. And the government off his back. He... His ego won't let him see it that way."

"I coulda told you that," Steve said. "And I've known him less than a year. Which means you must have known how he'd react from the start."

"It was never meant to go that far," Pepper protested. "Phil asked me to help before I'd heard of Iron Man, before we were lovers, before you were found, before the Avengers."

"Guess you reported on me too."

"I tried not to. Sometimes... Can I tell Director Fury that I've spoken with you? He knows you went to Africa with Tony, but you didn't come back with him, and he tells me that, while he met with Tony there, he saw no sign of you."

"Fury was in Wa— in Africa? I really am going to have to ask Tony what happened after I... left."

"Where did you go?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. And I'd rather Fury didn't know, at least for the moment, that I'm back. Will you do that for me?"

"Will you look after Tony for me?" Pepper challenged in return.

"Pepper, he's my best friend. I won't let anything happen to him."

"That's what Phil promised too," Pepper said, and Steve could hear the break in her voice as the line abruptly went dead.

 

When Steve reached the kitchen, he discovered Tony broiling bacon on the stove, with the griddle warming and a packet of pancake mix besides an empty bowl. Wordlessly, Steve took over making the pancakes, leaving Tony to concentrate on not burning the bacon and, ten minutes later, they sat down together in the semicircular dining area looking southeast and, still in silence, ate their very belated breakfast.

"Sir," Jarvis's voice said, as Steve chased the last piece of bacon around his plate. "Ann-Marie has just delivered your packages."

"Great. Arrange for the usual bonus."

"Who," asked Steve, "is Ann-Marie?"

"My personal shopper in LA. I rang her this morning, gave her your size details and asked her to pick up some clothes for you. Or would you rather go out in full Asgardian?"

"I didn't know we were going out." Steve had been anticipating – and dreading – a private time here with Tony to talk things over.

"Place we can eat great food and can't be disturbed. Besides, I want to give the Ferrari Zegato a run. You're going to love both, Steve. Let's go find out what Ann-Marie thinks is fashionable for a Californian Fall."

 

The scarlet convertible, which Tony informed him gleefully was a Ferrari 550 GTZ Barchetta Zegato, of which only five existed, was a design dream, though it was impossible to fit his shield in its case anywhere but in the trunk, and it wouldn't lie flat in that. 

The car looked fast when it was standing still: on the move it felt more like riding the Iron Man armour, though a lot more comfortable. 

Tony took great delight in flinging it around the curves of his own palm-fringed drive, though once out on the public highway he reduced the speed a little, and the Ferrari growled in protest at being restrained to only about thirty miles an hour over the speed limit.

Steve wasn't worried. Anyone who had the reflexes to pilot the Iron Man suit, with or without Jarvis's assistance, wasn't going to crash a car worth – well, a lot. He wasn't going to ask how much.

The road wound North into the Santa Monica mountains, their slopes brown with bare earth and sun-scorched grass and scrub, then took what was plainly a private road running up a steep wooded valley – arroyo, was it? Though narrow and hugging a slope rising steeply to the right, while on the left the ground fell over twenty feet into a rock littered dry creek bed, this road was better surfaced than the public one on which they had previously been travelling. 

Before Steve had made up his mind to ask again where they were going, the car halted in front of heavy metal gates in a high fence following a strip of cleared forest that ran across the valley. Tony honked the horn and the gates swung open enough to let them pass, though he stopped briefly and exchanged a few words with the guard who came out of his post to greet them. 

Beyond lay more forest. At the head of the valley were cliffs riven both vertically and horizontally – _by earthquake?_ – into rough cubes, and perched on their rim was what appeared to be a whitewashed Spanish mission, though this road plainly did not lead to it.

Then, as they rounded a curve, a flash of sunlight on glass suddenly transformed Steve's perception of the rock face, and revealed the shadows as windows and the stone blocks as buildings.

His curiosity was now too acute for him to remain silent. "What is this place?"

"Somewhere to tell your kids about," Tony said.

"Kids are pretty unlikely considering the serum altered my DNA," Steve retorted. "Not to mention it didn't alter my personal... preferences."

Tony glanced at him sharply, eyebrows quirked. 

Steve felt the heat rise into his face, but he nodded, once, and if the car's driving line wavered at that point, it could just have been that Tony had taken his eyes from the road.

He elected to ignore the slip. "Not good enough, Tony. What is this place?"

"Possibly the most exclusive restaurant in the world. Nearly-as-rich-as-me guy I know hired a five Michelin starred chef and most of her staff to cook for him personally, but she only came on condition that she was allowed to keep her sous chefs and apprentices, and to run a small exclusive restaurant for them to keep their hands in. Rich guy lives up top, the restaurant's below. There are also four private dining rooms that were leased to friends of the owner. Mine is available to other people – at a huge cost – if I'm not in California. But if I am here, I have priority, whether someone else has tried to reserve it or not. I rang Miranda this morning and told her we'd be here around two. And we're on time." Tony steered the Ferrari down a short tunnel and into a cleft in hillside which had been roofed in some transparent material and park in a wide space with a discreet plaque marked AES. "Come along. Miranda hates for the food to be kept waiting."

 

Engraved glass doors led into a cool atrium, tiled with intricate patterns of cool blues, greens and browns. Steve had never been in North Africa, but he had seen similar tiles in Spain, and was impressed by the craftsmanship and design. However, he didn't have long to study them, as a woman in chef's white came bustling in. Small, slim and neat, she oozed professionalism.

"Tony!" she exclaimed, with what seemed to be genuine pleasure. "It's been far too long. I began to wonder if you'd had a dose of food poisoning from some of that junk food you're so fond of and were blaming it on me." She frowned at him. "You do not look well, and you've lost weight."

Tony air kissed both her cheeks. "I've been busy, not ill. I'm based in New York, now."

She cocked her head. "Are you thinking selling your dining room lease, then?"

"Why, is someone looking to buy it?"

"There's always someone looking to buy the leases on the private dining rooms."

"And none of us are looking to sell," Tony said easily. "Steve, this is Miranda, our utterly divine chef. She doesn't admit to a surname. Miranda, my guest is Captain Steve Rogers."

Miranda's face lit up with a smile. "I'm so pleased to meet you, Captain. We will do our very best for you."

Steve had been trying to place her accent, which seemed to have elements of French, Spanish and the English West Country, with a touch of Deep South. He said, "Thank you, ma'am. The way Tony's been talking, this is going to be a real treat."

"My wait staff will be falling over themselves to serve the two of you. Now, come this way.” 

 

The 'private dining room' was purposely small and plain, its French doors currently folded away, and a balcony looking over the hills towards the sea. The table was set for two, with spotless linen, silverware, and sparkling crystal, the chairs high backed and comfortable, and the paintings on the white walls included a Van Gogh landscape.

"Can we talk here?" Steve asked.

"Absolutely. Privacy's one of the things that's guaranteed."

Steve took a deep breath. There were things he had to know. "What happened after I... left?"

Tony chuckled. "Oh, now that is a long story.” 

"We seem to have the rest of the afternoon."

"Then I'll start with how White Wolf got his filthy hands on T'Challa and, incidentally, me."

 

Steve had never tasted food like it. Tony had plainly briefed Miranda, for Steve's plates always held at least three times as much as Tony's. His own wine glass was filled with the appropriate amount for each course, but Tony, apart from a glass of champagne with the crayfish, stuck to water.

_Not going to let me drive the Ferrari home then._

The conversation paused while each course was delivered, which appeared to give Tony the time he needed to collect his thoughts and edit out any touch of the personal from his narrative. Steve suspected that that was what he had planned when he had arranged for them to come here. 

But he could wait. Tony had promised that they would talk this through, and he was going to hold him to it.

 

They were on to the dessert course when Tony finally finished what had become an extremely detailed briefing. "Wow," Steve said. "Was I away for a couple of years?"

"Nope. Things happened kinda fast."

"It worries it me that Bruce is still missing."

"You and me both," Tony admitted. "There's someone out there who can hold the Hulk captive. And he's not vulnerable to Kryptonite."

Plainly, Steve had gotten that reference, or was pretending he did, for he said, "I'm also surprised no one's called me from the Tower. They must have all sorts of questions— Tony? You have told them I'm back, haven't you?"

Tony's expression no doubt mirrored his feelings of dismay and amusement. "I forgot... Well, I was busy... Stop giving me that 'Captain America is displeased with you' look: it doesn't work on me."

_And maybe I just wanted to keep you to myself._

"Oh, I'm not displeased with you, but Jan sure is gonna be. And Natasha. It's lucky for you I called Pepper this morning."

"You spoke to Pepper?" Tony asked, dismayed.

"I returned her calls," Steve said. 

Tony could feel panic rising. "Damn it, Steve, what did she say?"

"She confirmed what you'd said. Did she tell you she'd gotten in deeper than she'd intended with SHIELD while trying to protect you?"

"Yeah, and did she tell you she'd been sabotaging me in Washington too?"

"No."

"Turns out she's never been sold on the plans for Stark Energy and so she's no longer a part of it."

"Why?" Steve asked, in puzzlement. "It's important work, Tony. Perhaps the most important thing you've ever done."

"But it stacks up Stark Industries against a lot of powerful enemies. Natasha has a scary list of them."

"She would."

"Pepper's better off out of this, Steve. She never approved of the Iron Man, and she's going to be furious when she realises the Avengers are back in operation. Not to mention that Jan Van Dyne is now a superhero and that Natasha is installed in the tower."

"Why?"

"She thinks I'm sleeping, have slept, or want to sleep with both. Possibly at once. And no assurances that I think of one as a sister and am terrified of the other will convince her."

Steve snorted, in an attempt to hold back laughter.

"You can laugh, but she accepts my assurance that I wasn't sleeping with you."

"Did you say you didn't want to?" Steve asked, with interest.

"She didn't ask. No, no, Steve, I'm not answering you either. So tell me, what happened to you in Asgard?"

 

They were sipping their coffee when Miranda arrived. She closed the door firmly behind her, and while accepting their profuse compliments on the food, was plainly on a mission. "I have a message for you from the boss," she told Tony. "He says 'I'm grateful—'"

"'Fucking grateful' – don't edit him, Miranda."

"'— _fucking_ grateful that you came to claim your turf today. There's this galoot who's been camping out in your dining room as often as he can. He's also been pressuring Miranda' – that's me – 'to tell him who owns the lease so he can buy it out.'"

"Which I can't sell without your – either of your – agreement."

"I haven't told him that." Miranda was entirely self-possessed.

"You can reassure your boss that I'm happy with the present arrangement and that I'm not in need of cash."

"He'll be happy about that – and so am I. Next time, bring some more of the Avengers, Tony. I want to feed them. Thor looks as if he could even out-eat Captain Rogers here."

"He can," Steve said.

"And I will," Tony told her.

 

The sun was dropping towards the sea when they finally climbed back into the Ferrari and set off towards Malibu.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Tony was happy. He was full of sublime food and had managed, all afternoon, to avoid the personal conversation he was dreading. He was driving a supercar convertible with the roof retracted in the Southern California evening sunshine with Steve beside him. Of course, he couldn't open her up, but Steve's awe at the very-nearly-unique car had been sweet. So was the sound of the perfectly-tuned engine.

Everything else seemed insignificant.

"Tony, above us," Steve said urgently.

A silver-coloured humanoid figure, superficially like the Iron Man but not, in fact, like it at all, was pacing the Ferrari, some forty feet above it. Tony grinned to himself, then lifted one hand from the wheel and gave the figure a wave.

"Rhodey," he explained. "War Machine. I told Danvers—"

He broke off as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the War Machine's guns unfold from below shoulder plate; the car surged forward in response to an instinctive shove of foot on gas pedal. "We're in trouble."

Even as Tony was speaking, Steve reached across and jerked the wheel hard to the right, sending the car swerving 

Tony opened his mouth to yell a protest, and it was then that the explosion tore up the road where the car would have been if it hadn't been skidding across dirt inches from the drop to the creek.

"What?" Even as he spoke, Tony had taken back control of the Ferrari and put his foot flat to the floor. "That's not Rhodey!" he shouted at Steve.

"If you say so!" Steve yelled back. Then, "Left! Left! He's on your tail!"

"This isn't a fighter," Tony retorted as he spun the wheel. "And I don't have a rear gunner... gun, gun..." It was so long since he'd driven this car he'd forgotten the extra that had come with this particular vehicle when he'd bought it from a Mafia boss who was heading for jail. "There's a handgun in a secret compartment under the dash though, damn it, I've forgotten the code I need to release—"

Scratch that. Steve had simply reached across, found the edge of the hidden compartment, and wrenched it free, throwing it out of the car before, pulling out the Stark Special pistol and cocking it. "Get us off this road!" 

"Your wish is my command, oh my captain. Except it's five miles to the highway – Christ, that was close! – and that'll be full of traffic."

"What the heck happened to Howard's flying cars?" Steve muttered. "We sure could do with one now!"

"The idea crashed and burned. Think of what the FAA would have said. I had enough trouble—" Tony applied the brakes hard, so the War Machine shot ahead, spun the car on its axis and headed back up the road. The gates and their guards were a better proposition for cover. "—with getting permissions for the armour."

Steve had turned in his seat – Tony had yet to persuade him to wear a seatbelt, and it gave him some gratification to see Captain America blatantly break traffic laws even though he was likely the one who would go to jail because he was pretty sure the LAPD wouldn't be convinced that he hadn't been carrying illegally – and was aiming carefully at the oncoming armour.

"If that is the War Machine armour then you can't damage it with a handgun – even a Stark handgun," he pointed out.

"No, but instinct—" Steve fired, once, twice, and the suited figure swerved to one side. "— makes you turn —" He fired again as the armour honed in on them. "— if your display says a bullet's coming straight at your eyes."

The Ferrari's speedometer needle was edging towards the 200 mph mark, but that wasn't anywhere near as fast as the War Machine armour. Even as he wondered why whoever was in it – not Rhodey, please, not Rhodey – wanted to kill them, the road in front of them exploded. 

Tony braked and threw the wheel over, setting the car into a barely-controlled spin. Then the shockwave caught her.

_Fuck, only four of these left now_ Tony thought. _I don't want to die yet._ as the Ferrari reared up in imitation of the prancing horse on its hood and toppled towards the creek.


	21. A Rollercoaster Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then the sky was steady above him and Tony realised, far too late, that once again Steve was throwing himself between him and danger, whatever the cost.

Even as Tony raised his arms in what he was certain would be a vain attempt to protect his head, Steve's left arm curled about his waist while the right wrenched the seat belt from its socket. Then Tony was hauled out of his seat and, still in Steve's grip, he was tumbling through the air; red sky pierced with green, brown and ochre spinning past.

Then the sky was steady above him and Tony realised, far too late, that once again Steve was throwing himself between him and danger, whatever the cost.

They crashed down through the trees, taking branches with them, but still hit the ground hard. Tony, clutched against Steve's chest, had the breath knocked out of him by the impact. Locked together, they slithered down the slope, bouncing off the rocks and the odd tree, a small landslip accompanying them, until they were brought to an abrupt halt by a live oak. Steve's grip slackened abruptly, and Tony rolled on for a few yards before he could bring himself to a stop.

The Ferrari lay upside down at the bottom of the arroyo as the War Machine swooped towards it. Tony saw the guns click out, and curled into a ball, covering his ears with his hands as the incendiaries hit the gas tank.

The Ferrari exploded.

 _Fucking vandals!_ Tony thought, in outrage, as the shock wave rolled over him. Then he lifted his head and looked quickly left and right.

Steve was unmoving, half hidden under the live oak. Tony could only hope he would be okay. Meanwhile, his more immediate problem remained: War Machine, which had landed beside the remains of the Ferrari, no doubt to make sure that its occupants were dead.

_If whoever is operating the armour sees Steve..._

He couldn't let that happen. They needed protection, or something, anything that could be used as a weapon against the armour.

Carefully, Tony eased his phone from his pocket. The screen lit at his touch, but there was no trace of a signal.

_Damn_

The flames on the gutted car were dying, allowing Tony to see that the trunk had snapped open on impact. If Cap's shield was still in there it would be intact, but too hot to handle.

_Worth a try, though._

Tony began to edge towards it.

The sound of repulsors powering up told him that the War Machine was preparing to take off.

_Good, if he moves away from the car, and even better if he goes in the opposite direction, away from Steve._

It was then that Tony spotted the glint of stars.

Cap's shield was lying perhaps ten feet away, the remnants of its canvas case smouldering in the grass around it. The paint job wasn't even scorched so it was probably no more than warm.

The War Machine was in the air now, moving out in a spiral from the car.

 _He knows we're not dead,_ Tony thought, as he slithered towards the shield. 

Whether the armour's sensors picked up his movement or body heat, War Machine broke off from his search, one arm coming up, the open hand pointing directly at Tony, who flung himself towards the shield. Still skidding on the rough ground, he snatched it up and put it between himself and War Machine, doing the mental calculations that came to Steve by instinct as ducked his head and angled it —

The repulsors fired.

The beam struck the shield and bounced back, the vibranium steel alloy doubling and redoubling the power. It struck War Machine exactly where Tony had intended, on the faceplate, sending it, and whoever was inside it, tumbling through the air. Tony, who was looking for it, saw the lights behind the helmet's eyes go out and punched the air in triumph, even as the flailing War Machine hit the valley side in an uncontrolled roll, dived downwards, still under power, and crashed into the rocks of the currently dry creek.

He started towards it, shield still in hand.

It exploded.

Tony dropped to his knees, shield held over his head, sliding downslope as blood, metal and scorched flesh rained down on him.

Once the horror ceased, Tony dug the shield into the ground in front of him to stop himself sliding any further and sat down hard, staring at the carnage that had been one of his creations and a human being, though now it was impossible to separate what was left of them.

_Not Rhodey. Please don't let it be Rhodey..._

"Tony." Steve spoke from behind him, then a hand fell on his shoulder. "It wasn't Rhodes." His voice held all Captain America's moral certainty.

Tony glanced up at him. Steve was battered, the back of his off-the-peg but still expensive designer jacket torn into ragged strips, which hung from his shoulders like a poor imitation of an Asgardian cloak. Tony didn't like to contemplate the state of his back.

_Again. Saving me yet again._

Steve sank down next to him, his shoulder brushing Tony's. "That was astonishing," he said. "Maybe I should pass the shield to you." Then, again, "It wasn't James Rhodes."

"You can't be certain of that." _Any more than I can._

"Sure I can," Steve said. "In the military there are times when it's not just legal but mandatory to disobey orders. This was one. Besides, Rhodes is your friend, and no one but a fool would send a friend to kill you."

Unlike Steve, Tony was still breathless and shaking. "Attack could have been aimed at you," he said. 

"Who knew I was here? It was your car, coming from a place where you own the lease on a dining room, not far from the house you built. No, this one was aimed at you. Mostly, though, this attack was incompetent – and by all accounts Rhodes isn't."

"He could have been fighting brainwashing," Tony said, "The suit could have been on remote. There could be any number of reasons."

Tony felt Steve's arm slide round his shoulders, strong and warm and comforting. "But the most likely one is still that it wasn't him."

Ignoring both touch and words, though that was becoming harder and harder, Tony said, "That fucking serum doesn't make you invulnerable. Thought I told you not to throw yourself on the wire for me again."

"Didn't," Steve said. "It's you and me, not you _or_ me. Always."

Once again he had blasted aside Tony's defences. Too choked by emotion to say anything, Tony twisted around to face him, kissed him gently, then rested his forehead against his.

"And you," Steve went on, in a whisper, "you saved us both just by being Tony Stark." 

Tony could have stayed there forever, but his phone started warbling the 'Jeeves and Wooster' theme, which meant not only that Jarvis wanted to talk to him, but that his phone was suddenly receiving a signal.

"Where the hell were you, Jarvis?"

"I could ask the same of you, sir. Despite you being within satellite coverage, you vanished completely from my tracking. When will you be arriving?"

"That might be little difficult right now. Do you have a fix on our position?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I need the armour, and a transporter with refrigeration coils – oh, and a Mark 4 first aid kit."

"Are you hurt, sir?"

"Cap is." 

"I'm just scraped and a bit bruised," Steve protested.

Tony waved a hand at him even as Jarvis said, "Already on my way, sir."

"And the serum will—"

"Fuck the serum. Don't tell me you aren't in pain," Tony snapped as he rose to his feet. "You stay there. I'll—" 

_Oops._

For the sun had disappeared behind the hills, and evening was falling swiftly. Even the flames around the car had died. As the light of Tony's phone dimmed they were alone in the dark in a narrow valley thick with shrubs, trees and unstable rocks.

It was only five minutes since the War Machine attacked, but night fell more swiftly here than in New York.

Tony sighed and reached for the buttons of his shirt to uncover the ARC reactor—

Only before he'd gotten the top button undone, he saw oncoming headlights reflect from the rocks and scattered fragments of metal, which must have come from War Machine rather than the car.

_At least that might make it a little easier to retrieve them._

The headlights, no doubt, were an indication that the guards at the gates had seen the explosions and responded predictably. Maybe, now the fire was out, they'd pass straight by, saving a lot of explanation...

The brightest of stars fell from the sky.

The Iron Man armour wrapped itself around Tony like a benediction.

Steve was on his feet, reaching for his shield. "They won't have missed that," he said.

"No."

_But maybe they could be of use, at that._

"Cap," Iron Man said, "there are things I don't want anyone else to see. I need you to distract those guys while I collect what remains of War Machine: there might be something left that shouldn't be in the wrong hands. Just let me get the First Aid Kit from the transporter, and I'll give you a lift to the road."

 

It was after midnight when they landed in the garage at the Malibu house, the transporter settling beside them, its grisly contents hidden behind sleek technology.

Steve, standing on Iron Man's right boot, with his fingers hooked into the holds made for them, looked around at the line of cars, the forge, the complex machinery that did who-knew-what, the small kitchen, the battered leather Chesterfield, sitting in front of a small – for Tony – television screen, the model aircraft, the family photographs that were missing from everywhere else in the house, and said, in revelation, "This is where you actually lived."

"This is where I worked," Iron Man corrected, no emphasis in the distorted voice, "and it's where I'm going to work for the next few hours. Go to bed, Cap. Up the spiral steps, two flights. I'm sure Ann-Marie bought you some pyjamas – at least, I asked her to."

"No," Steve said quietly. "Not unless you come with me. You're just as exhausted as I am, and if I'm right about what's in that flying dustbin, I'm not leaving you alone with it." Behind that golden mask, Tony must be hurting and desperately worried, for all his own attempts at reassurance. 

"I'm going to work in the isolation chamber over there," Iron Man said, waving a gauntleted hand. "In the suit so I don't contaminate the samples. Thor told me it would be several days before you’ll have your full super-soldier strength back and you look like hell. Bed, Steve. Now."

While Steve had had to admire the way Tony had sneakily passed on the first aid chores to the security guards, in order to distract them from investigating the arroyo or what Iron Man was doing in it, he was not about to let him get away with sidelining him again. The first time had been annoying enough, even though he would have been of little use to Tony in the dark, as he didn't have a personal light in his chest and an armoured suit to protect him. Nor could he let Tony know how much pain he was in right now, any more than he had then.

He said, "I'm not letting you out of my sight – not when you're doing something that might be dangerous."

"It isn't. Not while I’m in the suit. Also, I have Jarvis, and he can keep an eye on me for you, if you really feel like that."

Steve glared at him, hating the way he couldn't see Tony's face, couldn't guess what he was thinking. Not that what Tony was thinking or feeling had been at all clear since – since his own return from Asgard, from death. "Yes, darn it, I feel like that," he snapped, "and Jarvis's first loyalty is to you. I know damn well that you have him watching me – have done since the beginning."

The pause before Tony replied was telling. "Jarvis only reports to me if—"

Steve waved the defensive protest aside. "I don't mind that. I've been grateful for it, at times. What bothers me is that if you tell him to keep me in the dark, he will, just the way he seems to be helping you keep Natasha and Clint and Jan—"

"Okay, okay. Stay here if you like. There's a mattress and some blankets in the alcove over there. It's where I crash when I'm working."

Steve tried his Captain America glare, but, as so often, it didn't work on Tony, particularly when he could hide behind the faceplate.

"It's as far as I'll go in compromise, Steve," he said. "Either that or I'm going to pick you up and carry you."

He probably could do it, too, while he was in the suit, and now wasn't the time to contest that claim.

"Can I watch you from there?"

It was capitulation, and they both knew it.

"Yeah. You go lie down. I have work to do."

 

"Steve. Steve, c'mon, babe, wake up."

Steve opened his eyes to see Tony kneeling beside the mattress; he had shed the armour and was in his creased and rumpled suit, his tired face alight with relief.

"It wasn't Rhodey."

"Told you that," Steve said sleepily, but there was an answering smile on his face. He reached out to cup Tony's face with one hand, concealing a wince because his bruised muscles had stiffened and the scabs on his back were pulling as he moved.

"It wasn't Rhodey," Tony said again. "He's not dead. I mean, I've no evidence he's alive, but at least he wasn't in the suit. So there's that. Not that he'd ever give it up willingly. Maybe that's why he wanted to see me, I don't know. But what else could I have done, Steve? If he's dead... He still could be dead..."

Steve moved his hand to the back of Tony's head, pulling him into a kiss, then wrapping his arms about him. Tony buried his face in his shoulder and hugged him back, but Steve was unable conceal his sharp intake of breath at the touch.

Instantly, Tony released him, though Steve himself did not slacken his hold. "Hang on, Tony."

"I'm hurting you. I forgot – how could I forget?" Tony sounded distraught.

"Shhh. I want you to hold me, Tony. This is nothing. It might seem bad to you but I spent two decades in chronic pain. And I'm pretty much healed from today's – yesterday's – injuries. So, please." Then, as Tony's arms went round his neck, "We'll find him," Steve promised. "You and me, we can do anything." He waited until Tony's breathing had steadied a little, and then asked, in a normal voice, "Do you know whose DNA it was?"

"Jarvis is hacking the service databases now," Tony said, more calmly. "They're our best bet."

"You think Rhodes wouldn't play ball so the Air Force took the suit away from him. Was it the original War Machine?"

"Yeah." Tony pulled back to arm's length and Steve let him. Plainly, Tony was back in control of himself. "Apart from some of the weaponry. They've been reluctant to get rid of all the Hammertech rubbish, but there's something else, something I can't get to the bottom of."

"It'll come," Steve said, reassuringly. "All you need is a few hours sleep, let your brain sort it out by itself. Maybe if we went upstairs and used that bed..."

Tony shook his head helplessly.

"Why not?" Steve was trying to control his frustration with Tony – he didn't want to fight with him and certainly not for it turn physical – but he knew it was there in the sharpness of the question.

It had its effect. If Tony had hackles, they would have been up. "Because, fuck it, I don't trust myself to be in the same bed as you," he snapped.

"Good," Steve said, in pure relief.

"What? Steve—?"

"I was beginning to think you'd decided you didn't want me after all."

_Was that dismay on Tony's face? Please let it be dismay._

"God, no, I— just—"

"Sir," Jarvis interrupted. "I hate to intrude at this moment, but Ms Romanoff is now calling and she insists on speaking to you personally."

The disappointment was so overwhelming that Steve opened his mouth to curse at Jarvis, but Tony beat him to it. "Fuck it, Jay, I told you I didn't want to speak to anyone. If it's that urgent you can take a messa—"

"This may be connected with incoming news reports stating you were involved in a car crash and have not been contactable since then," Jarvis interrupted. "The speculation is that you have either been seriously injured or killed."

Steve was suddenly glad he'd managed to hold his tongue.

"Shit, Jarvis, tell her we – I'm fine," Tony said.

"I have done so, sir. I do not think she believes me."

Tony swore creatively, disengaged himself from Steve, who made no resistance, rose, and stormed towards the computer terminals. It gave Steve the chance to climb, much more carefully, to his feet.

"Put her on, Jarvis. Audio only," Tony ordered.

"At once, sir."

"Hi, Natasha," Tony said. "Haven't you heard of Pacific Daylight Time? It may be... what?... six-twenty am in New York but it's three-twenty here."

"Well, if that isn't Stark he has the snark down pat." The voice was Clint's.

Inwardly, Steve winced. Challenging Tony to snark never ended well.

He was right. "Have you caught a cold, Nat?" Tony shot back. "Or has your voice broken?"

Steve heard what sounded like someone choking back a laugh, probably Clint. Then Natasha said, "What were we supposed to think, Stark? First of all Clint lost contact in what the National Weather Service are calling an 'unusually isolated squall' and what the press are shouting was an 'unprecedented mini-storm', and when we got it back, you were apparently asleep and had given Jarvis instructions not to wake you."

"Well, Nat, I really didn't think you'd call me to discuss the weather but, you know, we can—"

"And you were 'unavailable' all yesterday, according to Jarvis. Now the internet is full of rumors of your possible death in a road accident, which, considering how you drive, is by no means unlikely—"

"I – am – not – dead. And as soon as we end this call I'm going to contact my PR and Legal Departments to make that damn clear to the internets. God knows what it's done to Stark Industries stock price – and with it the DOW. I may sue."

Steve was beginning to worry about the way Tony was circling the elephant in the room – and sometimes he did feel elephantine around his mercurial partner. Now he moved behind him and placed a hand on his back, just above his waist, reminding him that he was here, and alive – and hoping to stem the ridiculous flow of words.

 

Tony shivered at Steve's unexpected touch, losing the thread of what he had been saying. If Steve moved his hand down few inches he was going to be... totally incoherent, probably. Damn it, he'd never expected Steve to come on to him like this... and it was playing hell with his resolve to keep this... this relationship... platonic long enough to let Steve realise his mistake and, hopefully, be satisfied with their closer friendship—

"Stark?" That was Natasha, sounding a little worried.

"I had visitors. From Asgard. Thor's back, and in exile, apparently, because he got his mom to save Steve's life. Steve is back too, a bit shaken up and not at his full strength, but getting there."

There was a stunned silence.

Steve said, from behind him, "Don't blame Tony. According to Thor, I really was dead, for a while."

The microphones picked up a double intake of breath, but nothing else.

Tony hated silence. "Yeah, our very own version of Lazarus. I've given up doubting Thor's godhood. Or at least his Mom's goddesshood—"

"Why can't we see you both?" Clint demanded. "If this is some sort of trick program—"

"We're both a little worse for wear – and no, Barton, alcohol was not involved, just my own hijacked tech. But if you insist... Jarvis, video link."

Instantly, images of Clint and Natasha appeared in front of them. He hadn't had time to update the tech here, so they were visible as if a screen was hovering in the air, rather than the full holographic three-dimensional version available in the Tower.

Tony rather hoped they might be distracted by the sight of a shirtless Captain America – he certainly was – but he didn't expect shock.

"Dear God," Clint said. "What the hell happened to the pair of you?"

"Steve's still recovering from his temporary demise, and I've been in the armour for hours," Tony said, hoping they couldn't see the dressing strapped to Steve's back.

"I'm fine," Steve said. "Tony will be when he gets some sleep."

"None of which explains why the hell you haven't contacted us to tell us Captain-fucking-America was alive and well and in your damn modernist dream house," Clint snarled.

"I think you had better explain that, Stark," Natasha said coldly. "And it had better be a good explanation."

Steve's hand gently rubbed the small of his back in reassurance and Tony almost groaned aloud. Biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt at control, he said, "Well, we were out of touch when Thor and Steve arrived, which was kind of a shock. I had to take care of both of them – Steve was – is – still recovering from being, you know, dead and Thor needed food and beer and Jane – he's gone to see her now and after that I fell asleep and then I sorta forgot..."

_"Forgot?_

"I was... I dunno... relieved. Profoundly. Shocked, too. I'm kinda used to dealing on my own. With Steve. Yeah. It was, y'know, Steve. He's my—"

_Partner. Friend. Maybe lover? Future lover. Nothing I can explain..._

"Natasha," Steve interrupted, "you're forgetting that Tony and I have been working as partners for months. If either you or Clint had known your partner was dead, then found they were alive after all, wouldn't you want a little time to work things out?"

One of Natasha's eyebrows was disappearing into her hairline. She turned to look at Clint, who had widened his eyes.

It seemed only fair to turn his head and remark to Steve, "Nah, they would have had angry sex and then make-up sex." Even as he spoke he wondered where his control had gone. Steve's expression had frozen, and the hand on Tony's back stilled, as if he was in shock.

Tony turned quickly back to face Natasha and Clint, just as Clint said, "Projection, much, Stark?" 

"Just observation," Tony retorted. "And since yesterday evening you people haven't been on my list of priorities. Someone sent the War Machine armour to kill us."

"Kill _you_ ," Steve corrected.

"And when I managed to disable it, it self-destructed. I've been trying to track down who was in it – not its normal pilot, Lieutenant-Colonel James Rhodes – how it was modified and who modified it. Not to mention who sent it to kill us. Or, if Steve is right, me."

"Any idea who that was, yet?" Natasha asked.

"No. I'll let you know as soon as I do. Meanwhile, what's your opinion on Coulson's old grandpappy?"

"He has an excellent head for strong liquor," Natasha said. "Better than yours. And he is either very well briefed or he is who he says he is. I have yet to determine who he’s working for, but he is certainly working for someone. Even his disingenuous questions were too probing. He wants to know where Cap is."

"We aren't telling at the moment," Tony said.

"Not even your team-mates, apparently." Tony couldn't tell from Natasha's tone whether she was annoyed or simply making an observation. "Does Van Dyne know? Potts?"

"No and yes." He was going to be bawled out by Jan, but there was no use delaying it further. "Could you get Jan and Hank right now? They'll need to know that Steve's okay." Even as he spoke Tony was wondering why it hadn't been Jan who called him.

"Janet Van Dyne is off on some errand she didn't brief us about and Pym is locked in Bruce's old lab with a 'Do Not Disturb Even in the Event of Nuclear War' sign on the door."

Tony winced, not sure which circumstance was more ominous. He said: "Don't disturb Hank. When Jan gets back or calls in, tell her Steve's alive and so am I. You don't need to tell her to call me because she will anyway." 

"Are you in danger?" Natasha asked. "If so, are you returning to New York or do you want back-up out there?"

"No to all three. There's a chance I may still be needed in Seattle and Thor tells me Steve has to rest." Jan would have his head when he got back to New York and he was all for putting that off for as long as possible. "I'll let you know when I have anything else, and how you can help. That's all, folks."

At his signal, Jarvis cut the contact. 

Scrubbing at his face, with his hands, Tony said, "O-kay, Jarvis, get Marilyn for me, send a message to Ms Potts that we're fine, and then I'll need to talk to the PR department. Special Projects in Seattle. And the wire services."

"Put it on hold for ten minutes, Jarvis," Steve said.

Tony turned to face him, unable to keep the grin from his face. "Oh, yeah, where were we?"

Steve stepped back. "Tony, go upstairs, shower and change," he said firmly. "Some of these conversations will have to be Skyped – I'm sorry, Stark VoIP'd," he corrected, at Tony's glare. 

The horrible thing was that he was right. "You're far too at home with twenty-first century tech, _mon capitain_ ," Tony grumbled. "What happened to the guy who told me something worked on 'some kind of electricity'?"

"He met this genius who taught him everything he knows." 

"So he did..." Unable to stop himself, Tony leaned in for a kiss. 

It was Steve who broke it. "Shower. Change of clothing. Go."

Tony sighed, and obeyed.

 

Steve sat, carefully upright, on one of the seats flanking the massive irregular table that seemed to have been cut from an ancient redwood because no other tree could be that large, surely, while Tony talked his way through a series of phone and video calls – and what did he mean by telling Ms Bartowlski she was 'going to have to change the will yet again, sorry'? He knew better than to interfere, though once or twice he shook his head at some of Tony's more extravagant threats. 

It was odd to realise that people were actually more scared of Tony Stark's power than of Iron Man's.

Finally, Tony flexed his shoulders, rubbed his eyes with his fists and asked, "Anyone I've forgotten, Jarvis?"

"No, sir. But hashtag tonystarkisnotdead is now trending on Twitter."

Tony grinned at Steve: "Told you my PR people were good."

 _You're pretty impressive yourself,_ Steve thought.

"However," Jarvis continued, "I have located what appears to be a DNA match to the samples taken from the remains of the pilot of the War Machine."

"Jay, I remain impressed by my own genius in creating you. I presume you have hacked both CODIS and the Pentagon's database. Who was it?"

"An Air Force officer, Major Jim G. Brennan."

"Where was he assigned?"

"That is where the problem arises, sir. He is supposedly in Washington, working as an aide to the Joint Chiefs."

"Yeah, I bet he is. Keep digging, Jarvis. "

"Yes, sir."

"Damn," Steve said, quietly. "Despite all we knew, I hoped, somehow..."

"A few bad apples doesn't mean either the government or the Pentagon is all rotten," Tony said, in an obvious attempt to comfort him.

"The point of that proverb is that one bad apple will make the whole barrel rotten," Steve pointed out. "But there's no use worrying about it tonight – this morning. You need to sleep."

"Not done arguing about that, Steve." The old, familiar, mockery was back in Tony's voice.

_Pushing my buttons? Not this time._

"I'm calling a truce," Steve said calmly. "We have to talk this out, but not right now. You need your bed, and I'll sleep in that reclining chair of yours, if that's what you really want. God knows it isn't what—" Steve cut himself off as he saw Tony's eyes narrow.

"I trust you," he went on, instead. "Completely. But even if you were _that_ sort of guy, and you aren't, you couldn't do anything to me without my consent. Even weakened, so long as you aren't in the suit, I can take you apart. You know this. So this isn't about me. It's about you. About always being in control."

He knew that had struck home from the time it took Tony to respond. 

"I'm trying to be mature and responsible about this," he said, at last, "though neither is really my thing."

Steve held his gaze steady on Tony's face. "I don't need you to be either," he said. "Not with me."

He wasn't sure how long the silence lasted, let alone what Tony was thinking. Then his friend closed his eyes and leaned into Steve, all the fight gone out of him.

"Stubborn bastard," he whispered. 

"You have no idea," Steve said, with a chuckle.

"It's on your head. All of it."

"Okay," Steve said easily.

"And I want the left side of the bed."

"Fine. Is that the left side when we're looking at the bed and or when we're lying on it?" Steve was moving them both towards the stairs as he spoke. "Can you get undressed by yourself? Or do you want me to help?"

Tony shoved him away, and almost fell over. Steve put out a hand to steady him, but he brushed it away. "Just going to sleep," he insisted.

"I rather think you're asleep on your feet right now," Steve said, with amusement.

"Nope. I can go on for hours, days, weeks, months. Sleep is for the weak."

"Sure, Tony." Steve's arm was round his waist again, supporting him as they made their way up the spiral stairway. This time he did not protest, let alone push him away.

It felt like victory.

 

Rain battered down and thunder roared as Tony, armourless and helpless, held Steve's ice-cold body in his arms as the Hulk bounded towards them, Betty Ross sitting on his shoulder.

"Hulk bring party to you!" he roared, but the voice was Bruce's, and his open mouth burned with the ice blue of the Tesseract portal, which reached out to engulf them, as the stars and gravestones swirled and Steve's body dissolved in his arms...

He came awake gasping and sweating, as he had so many time since Steve died.

Only Steve was alive, wasn't he? He'd come back. They'd kissed...

Which was, well, unlikely, if he thought about it.

Tony reached across the bed, wanting to confirm those memories.

Only there was nothing there. The sheets were cold, the pillows fluffed and undented.

"Steve?"

There was no reply.

Had he imagined Steve's return? He'd wanted it so much...

_Dear God, no, that was impossible – it had to be..._

Tony curled in on himself, trying to control his thoughts, his breathing, his heart rate, the cold fear that gripped him.

The room was flooded with light.

"Tony? What's wrong? Jarvis said— Christ!"

_Steve's voice. Oh thank God, thank God..._

Tony lifted his head. Steve, with not even a towel to cover, well, anything, was striding across the room.

"You are alive," Tony whispered. "I didn't—

Then Steve was at the bed and, an instant later, _in_ the bed, his arms around Tony, pulling him so close he could hardly breathe, and didn't want to.

"I've got you," he said. "I've got you. It's all right. It's all right. Jarvis?"

"His vital signs show indications of returning to normal levels, Steve," Jarvis answered.

_What?_

"Could you switch the shower off? And the lights in the bathroom?"

"Already done, Steve."

Steve, Tony realised belatedly, was beaded with water, though the taped down dressing that covered most of his back was still dry.

"Bad dream?" Steve was asking now.

Tony didn't want to answer that, but he could not stop his muscles from tensing at the reminder, or his intake of breath.

Steve didn't say anything further, just wound arms and legs around him and kissed every inch of skin he could reach – which wasn't half enough, if he'd asked Tony.

Except he shouldn't be thinking that. Not now. Not yet.

"You weren't here," he said. "The bed was cold."

"I needed to get cleaned up," Steve said. Then, "Your reaction panicked Jarvis."

"Jarvis can't panic," Tony told him. "And how long was I asleep, that you hadn't come to bed?"

"Maybe twenty minutes."

It didn't feel right. "Jarvis?"

"Fifty-four minutes, sir."

"What?" Tony heard the rising note of near hysteria in his own voice and fought to bring it down to a near whisper. "What on Earth were you doing in the bathroom for nearly an hour? Steve?"

Steve didn't reply. Tony couldn't see his face, but his neck and shoulders were pink.

Suddenly, he knew. "Were you jerking off? Thinking about me?" He moved a hand to Steve's chin – newly shaved, he noticed absently – and turned the other man to face him. The blue eyes met Tony's definatly. "You were. I mean, you were thinking about me. God, Steve, that is so hot. You should have woken me up. At the very least, I could have watched. Jarvis, did you record—?"

Steve's hand went over his mouth, even as Jarvis said, firmly, "No, sir, I did not."

Tony nibbled at the hand. As soon as Steve removed it, he said, "I'm impressed. You were as exhausted as I was." 

"It's the serum," Steve said. "Before it I was a sick runt. Not much interested in... y'know..."

"Sex?"

"And I was... was never attracted to women, but then they weren't attracted to me, so... And if I was occasionally attracted to men, well, it was too dangerous. An' they wouldn't have wanted to... "

"And it was one more thing to hide from the military?"

"Yeah. As if I wasn't unsuitable already. Then there was Peggy." Steve's voice had softened, become slower and reflective.

"Peggy Carter. The Great Romance," Tony hated himself for the sarcastic edge that was creeping into his voice. "You loved her. You said so yourself."

"Yes, I did," Steve said. "She was gorgeous, bright, tough, and having to fight for her place in the military just as I had. She was wonderful. And I was attracted to her." Steve chuckled, but Tony heard the note of bitterness in it. "She seemed to like me, but I think now that was just pity."

"I doubt that."

Which made Steve smile. "You are prejudiced. But she was the first woman I'd ever wanted. You have no idea what a relief that was, for a fella like me, back in the forties. Then there was the serum and, well, wow!"

"Wow? Oh, like that?"

"Yeah. Like that. I went from not particularly interested to... well, to being too damn interested. But Peggy was my only hope of being, y'know, considered normal. I did love her, Tony. More importantly, I wanted her. For all of that, I was willing to wait. I got very familiar with my right hand."

"What, none of the Howling Commandos were willing to help you out? What about that friend of yours – Barnes?"

"Bucky?" Steve snorted. "I grew up with Bucky. Since I was three I spent as much – more – time with his family than I did with my mother because she worked so hard. His mom even looked after me sometimes when I was sick and my mom had to be on shift. When I wasn't in his apartment, he was in ours. He was _family_. My brother. I could no more have sex with him than..." Steve shook his head, with a bitter laugh. "He grew up to be a real ladies man, contemptuous of fags, same as most men back then. He would never have hurt anyone, though – was far too kind. Was always trying to fix me up with dames too. An' I have a feeling he may have saved me from being raped a couple of times." He looked at Tony. "I always kinda thought you were like him. Like your Dad."

That hurt. "Not sure about Dad," Tony said lightly. "He was sorta obsessed with you. An' he married very late. Looking for an heir, same as he expected from me."

Steve lifted an eyebrow. "Are you telling me the reason you haven't married and had children is because that's what Howard wanted?"

"Something like that," Tony said, evasively. "What's going on, Steve? You don't normally open up about yourself like this."

"You said we'd talk. I'm talking. Not heard much from you, though. Am I keeping you awake?"

"I like your voice," Tony mumbled, squirming until he was comfortable. 

"You don't need to protect me from myself," Steve went on. "I wanted you from the moment I saw you, though, to be honest, the first thing that hit me after the lust was dismay that being in love with Peggy hadn't cured me of wanting men." 

"Is that why you wanted me to put on the suit?" Tony asked. "To get that metal between you and my – body?" The last sentence was interrupted by a huge yawn.

"Just evening the odds. Between SHIELD's briefing pack, your attitude and Loki's staff, I didn't feel much like making a pass at you."

Tony wasn't going to answer that one. He was just going to lie in Steve's arms and listen to his voice.

"You're going to have to explain yourself sooner or later," Steve said, with a chuckle. "Sure you don't want me to move to the other side of the bed?"

No response.

"Guess I can stay here then," Steve said softly. "Jarvis, lights out, please. No calls, no alarms – we're sleeping late."

Jarvis's, "I'll make sure nothing disturbs you, Steve," was the last thing Tony remembered.

 

It was with the noonday sun streaming through the bottom of the window – though it didn't reach the bed – that Tony sat up and exclaimed, "Fuck it, my brain's turned to mush. Jarvis!"

"Sir?"

"Get me Miranda on the phone right now."

"Uh?" Steve lifted his head. "What?"

Tony waved a hand at him, asking him to be quiet.

"Miranda has answered, sir."

"What is it, Tony?" Miranda's voice asked. "We've got people out there recovering your car, but it's totalled, I'm afraid."

"You can answer a question: I know you can't tell me who's been block-booking my dining room while I was in New York, but did you or one of your minions call them to tell them I was exercising my right to evict them yesterday afternoon?"

"Yes, I did it myself, but—"

"You see, we couldn't figure out how anyone knew we were there, until I remembered you'd had to tell someone their booking had been cancelled."

"We didn't tell them who was leasing the dining room," Miranda protested.

"It would be easy enough to work out," Tony replied. "You have to be in the top thirty on the Forbes Rich List to afford one of your rooms, and living in California to make use of it. It's not usual for the same dining room to be available for months, and everybody and his mother knows I'd moved to New York for that period. Someone with a lot of money, even by my standards, was prepared to block book the room and actually use it, so that they'd know when I was there."

"That's horrible! I can't believe— or perhaps I can. I know you won't ask because you know the rules, but I'll talk to the boss when he gets back."

"You're an angel, Miranda."

"Oh, and our Security people want to know how Captain Rogers is. And where they can get a First Aid kit like the one you had last night?"

"Cap is healing nicely. As for the First Aid kit, I'll send them a dozen. Tell your boss he can be proud of them, would you, Miranda?"

"I will. And someone will be in touch."

Steve was now sitting up in bed, his arms round the tent made by his raised knees. "So that was how they knew where you were. And that car is – was – identifiable if they knew you had one."

He was close enough to feel the warmth of his body. Now he leaned across and ran a finger down Tony's left cheekbone. 

Tony shivered under the touch, heat coiling in groin and gut.

"You're hurt," Steve said, as if he hadn't realised it before.

"Not badly. That's just the bruising coming out. Your back, though, must be much worse... I noticed last night that you weren't letting it touch anything, even a chair back or the mattress."

"Is that the excuse of the hour, Tony?" Steve asked. "Find a new one, I'm healed. The dressing can come off. Look for yourself." With that he turned his back to Tony.

Tony swallowed, and began to pick carefully at the tape. Finally, he was able to strip the dressing away. 

Steve's back was so beautifully sculpted in bone and muscle that Tony caught his breath. The bruises were pale yellow, almost invisible because the rest of Steve's back was a patchwork of pink, newly grown skin – dear God, the damage had been even more extensive than he thought...

Though he knew, because he had seen it happen before, that within a day or so there would be no trace left of the injuries, the pink fading to the same creamy fairness that never seemed to tan.

Bracing himself, he glanced down at the dressing, which was crusted brown with dried blood, then screwed it up and threw it towards the wastebasket. His hands were shaking so much he missed. 

"No wonder the Security guards wanted to know how you were. And no wonder you didn't take off what remained of the jacket where I could see it."

"It was your idea to use me as a distraction," Steve pointed out. "And you've patched up worse injuries to my back."

"That was before—" Tony stopped himself before he could admit whatever it was his tongue had been going to say for itself. Not "before I fell in love with you" because it wasn't true. And even if it had been, he wasn't going to lay either of them open to subsequent heartbreak.

Steve's hands were suddenly on his shoulders, pulling him round so they were face to face. And close. So close.

"Tony, talk to me, for pity's sake."

"What do you want me to talk about?" Tony asked airily, avoiding Steve's eyes, though the blue of the sky beyond the windows was almost the same colour. "The weather? I'm not British and besides, it's all right here now that Thor's gone, though there's a nasty hurricane out in the Caribbean."

"Tony..."

"Then there's the election..."

"I told you last night," Steve said, and his voice was beginning to verge on Captain America tones. "You have to explain yourself because I'm having trouble figuring out where you're coming from. Why you keep treating me like a lover, then not following through. Is it because you aren't any more experienced at gay sex than I am, because if so—"

Tony burst out laughing. "You couldn't be more wrong," he said, with a bitterness he wasn't ready to explain to Steve.

"There's nothing to suggest you're bisexual even on the most disgusting websites or the most libellous tabloids," Steve insisted. "Lots of scandal, but not that."

"You've been checking up on me!" Tony shouldn't be delighted, but it showed the sort of interest from Steve he had only dreamed about. What else had he been hiding under that pose of total disinterest? "God, have you seen the Santa Barbara video? Because even I'm ashamed of that one."

Steve was turning an interesting shade of red. "I wanted to know... if there was any chance because sometimes you'd say things – though Jan said you say that kind of thing to everyone," he amended.

"You never responded when I flirted with you," Tony protested. "Never responded when anyone else did, either." Though he'd actually been grateful for that. "It's one of the reasons that I want to give you the time and space—"

"I didn't dare," Steve told him. "Didn't dare risk your friendship. Because there was always Pepper. I have to know – is it still Pepper? Will you take her back?"

"No." At least he could be truthful about that. "And even then it wasn't entirely Pepper."

"You wanted me even then?" Steve sounded stunned. "Then why—?"

"What I want – wanted – isn't important," Tony retorted, goaded beyond endurance. "What is is what _you_ want. What _do_ you want, Steve?"

"I want to... to have sex with you. I want you to fuck me into the mattress or against the wall or whatever you want..." His voice faded into a whisper. "I want you inside me. Please."

"Steve, don't..."

"Do you want me to beg? Because I will." It was said with no hesitation at all.

And it shattered the remains of Tony's resistance. "No! That's... that's ridiculous. You know something? I'm sick of being sensible." Tony held out a hand. "Just remember that if I do anything that hurts you or that you don't enjoy, you tell me then and there."

"Tony..."

"You can also tell me when you like something," he added, as a concession. "But no means no, for anyone, in any circumstance. Otherwise it's no deal. Promise?"

Steve was laughing as he came into his arms. "Idiot. Gorgeous idiot, though."

"I was never more serious." Tony told him. "Do I also need to give you a lecture about condom use? Stop that! I'm – I'm not... not ticklish. Steve! Stop it!"

"Darn it," Steve said. "I am so disappointed," and tickled Tony again. This time, though, Tony was ready for him, and the tickling turned into something else entirely.


	22. Still Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve still have a lot to sort out, but they may not have the opportunity.

Tony woke slowly, in contentment, knowing, without memory, that all was well with his world. Despite a few aches, probably from – oh, yes, Steve hauling him out of a crashing car...

And then there had been...

_Dear God..._

Tony's eyes shot open. The sun was setting over the Pacific, flooding the room with slanting rose-coloured light.

There was a warm weight in the bed only inches from his back.

_Don't let it have been a dream. Please..._

He rolled over and onto one elbow, stifling a yelp as, for a moment his vision fogged with unexpected pain.

Steve was still asleep, face buried in the pillows, covers pushed back to his waist. The scars on his back were beginning to disappear.

He was so beautiful.

Tony's guts were melting, turning to jello, if jello had been heated to the boiling point, as memories flooded back. But the most vivid were not of his own sensations, but of Steve's reactions, of the way he had given himself completely into Tony's hands, submitted – Captain America, who could break him in half with his bare hands, had submitted to him openly and enthusiastically – his quiet moans, pleas, the way his hands had gripped the pillows convulsively at each thrust...

The serum had, indeed, done something to Steve. He had come as soon as Tony had entered him, but he didn't soften until after two more orgasms...

Tony came near to licking his lips at that memory, even as he idly wondered whether he dare ask Steve if he had never been cut or if the serum had efficiently restored his foreskin.

That the question would probably make him blush was one more reason to ask it.

And when, unable to hold off his own orgasm any longer, Tony had rolled urgently to one side to avoid falling on Steve's still-healing back and then lay panting, his mind almost blank, Steve's hand had tentatively reached for his.

Tony had carefully laced their fingers together, tugging gently at Steve's hand. 

The answering sigh of relief was also engraved on Tony's memory for all time, as was the way Steve had allowed himself to be drawn close. Even in post-orgasm drowsiness, their bodies were a perfect fit.

He shouldn't have done any of it, but, oh God, he had never been so elated. He was not going to feel sorry. He was never going to feel sorry.

Tenderness almost overwhelming him, he leaned over and kissed Steve between the shoulder blades.

Steve raised his head, and the look on his face made Tony's heart skip a beat, then speed into overdrive. There was open adoration there, an intensity of feeling that made Tony's breath catch in his throat.

"You were right," Steve said.

"I always am," Tony claimed, with a grin that, he suspected, was about to become permanent. "About what, this time?"

Steve did not smile back. He said, very seriously, "About this... about, well, mak— having sex with... someone you... care about changing things. It does. I thought— I thought I could handle whatever you wanted, including forgetting last night if it... hadn't worked out. But I can't forget – can't go back the way we were before."

"Do you want to?" Tony asked. Then held his breath.

But not for long, because Steve said, "No," emphatically.

"Good," Tony said, and kissed him lightly. "Because I can't either."

Though none of the perfectly rational objections to getting into a relatio– fucking Steve had miraculously vanished.

_Well, Thor will be pleased, if no one else is._

But Tony was under no illusion that anyone outside Asgard would be.

He shifted onto his knees – or rather, tried to. He yelped, and collapsed on top of Steve, but that hurt even more. 

"Tony?" Steve sounded not so much winded as alarmed.

Tony groaned. "Not sure I can get out of bed, let alone walk. No, it's okay. Just a little stiff. No, no, I mean my muscles are stiff, though the other might be true with a bit of encouragement from you, and not so little..."

By this time Steve was shaking with suppressed laughter.

Encouraged, Tony went on, "Well, you do make me feel like a horny eighteen-year-old, though right now it's more like a horny eighty-year-old. Something to do with being dragged out of an exploding Ferrari and rolling down a hillside. Is this what you call sympathy, Rogers?"

"Nope," Steve said. Then, "You're actually pretty spry for an eighty-year old."

"Ha! Less than six years before we make arrangements for your hundredth birthday." Tony saw the shadow cross Steve's face and cursed himself. He couldn't take back that unwelcome reminder and was left floundering for a way to make this right. "And boy, will it be some party," he added lightly.

Steve was still watching him closely. "I think you need a long soak in a hot tub," he said. "Jarvis, could you fill the bathtub, please."

Jarvis spoke for the first time in hours. "May I suggest, Steve, that the spa tub by the pool would be even more helpful."

"It's miles away," Tony protested.

"I could always carry you," Steve said, with amusement.

"No you couldn't."

"Already have," Steve pointed out. "Would you prefer fireman's or bridal carry?" His voice held a gleeful note that suggested he was looking forward to it.

"Don't you dare!" Tony retorted, struggling to his feet, but there was a part of him wishing he could remember what it was like to be lifted and carried in Steve's arms. "Coming out to share the spa with me?" he countered.

"That's tempting, but I'm not sure it'll do your aching back any favours." Steve was grinning as he bounded to his feet. "Go on, Tony. I take it your housekeepers have gone so I'll change the linen here, have a shower, and then see what there is to eat. By that time you might be a bit more human."

"You can bring me a Martini," Tony told him, snatching up his robe, surreptitiously pocketing his cell phone and exiting the room before Steve carried out his threat.

 

Relaxing in the hot bubbling water, highball glass in hand – because he had little hope that Steve would arrive with anything alcoholic – Tony finally felt the tension ease out of his muscles.

Under the city-smog-hazed stars the swimming pool rippled with eerie blue light, reminding him uncomfortably of the Tesseract and the portal it had generated. It was the first time since the Battle of Manhattan that he had seen the pool with the underwater spotlights switched on.

_Perhaps,_ he thought, _I ought to get it retiled. But what colour? Not white. That will fade out against the house. Green? But then I'd lose the contrast with the planting. Red and gold? At that point Steve might leave me in disgust._

The ripples, of course, meant that the wind was rising. Not that he was cold, between the steaming water and the overhead heaters.

"Jarvis," he said. "What's the weather forecast? Are we in for a storm?"

"No, sir. Wind speed will peak at about twenty three knots."

"Thanks." With that worry dismissed, Tony downed the rest of the contents of the glass and reached to replace it on the tub-side table and exchange it for his phone (the only smart phone on the market that came with waterproofing as standard, though this one was far from standard.) Just before he touched it, it burst into the theme tune from _Ally McBeal_ – which meant the caller was Marilyn, who was still nagging at him to replace it with the theme from _Perry Mason_ , as being more appropriate for her success rate.

He picked up with some relief, because it would postpone the call he had to make. "Hey, Bartowlski, you're working late."

"Not working. Just taking a chance to get in touch with my night-owl boss, who hasn't been available today, according to Jarvis."

"Sorry," Tony said, without any hint of repentance. "I had other business, but I'm glad you called. Please thank your minions on the way they dealt with the little burst of misinformation last night." 

"We aim to please. Meanwhile, I need some decisions from you."

"Fire away."

 

Once Marilyn's concerns had been dealt with, Tony detailed some further changes to his will.

"Make up your mind, Tony." Marilyn sighed. "Even your father didn't make as many changes to his will as you do."

"That last will of his," Tony said. "There wasn't some sort of secret codicil to it, waiting to ambush me?"

"Not that I know of," Marilyn answered promptly. "It wouldn't be valid now if he had. His will passed probate over twenty years ago."

"Thank you. That's good to hear. I'll let you get back to your family."

"I wish." Marilyn said wryly.

"Huh? Something wrong?"

"The grandkids are at Disney World, Tony. I think Sandro's going to miss Florida, but we can't be sure."

"If you want them flown back, you only have to ask," Tony said.

"Bless you, but I'm just being an anxious grandma," Marilyn told him. "You look after yourself. At least until you get this will signed. Bye."

"Goodbye, and thanks." Tony hung up, and then addressed the air. "Jarvis? Sandro?"

"Eye location at 24 degrees 23 minutes North, 73 degrees 98 minutes West. Currently decreasing in strength and now Force 1. It has caused extensive damage on Jamaica, the eastern edge of Cuba, Haiti and the Turks and Caicos, but then began tracking east. However, it is noticeable for its size, rather than the strength of its winds, and will cause minor damage in Florida, though it is wreaking havoc in the Bahamas. Its current path will take it out into the Atlantic."

"Let me know if that changes," Tony said, then, with trepidation, he dialled the number of Pepper's private cell and waited to see if she would pick up. She had spoken to Steve, but Steve hadn't dumped her.

"Tony?" There was the sound of an orchestra and an operatic tenor in the background, which suddenly died to a whisper, so she wasn't actually at an opera house. For the last decade he had always known exactly where Pepper was, and that he didn't know if she was in LA, New York, Washington or Timbuktu made him even more uneasy.

"Hi, Pep," he said brightly. "Just checking that you got my message, and asking that you get me the names of the PR people I got out of bed last night." 

"Before you steal them from me for StarkEnergy, right?" Pepper said, in that I-know-your-game-Mister-Stark voice that he hadn't heard for a while.

At least she was talking to him.

"Maybe. But they deserve a bonus, at the very least," he countered.

"For saving what's left of your reputation, you mean? Not that they would have had to do it if you'd had a chauffeur drive one of your damn supercharged death traps."

"If I had they would have been dead. And perhaps Steve and I would have been too. It wasn't an accident, Pepper."

"Are you blaming SHIELD again?" Pepper's hold on her temper seemed to be slipping, but Tony wasn't going to be intimidated.

"Could have been. More likely the Pentagon."

"Oh, for—"

"I have evidence, Pep." 

"Of course you do." The response dripped sarcasm. 

There was another awkward silence, then Pepper said, "I want to thank you for assigning Happy to me. I know how much you relied on him, but I really don't feel safe with anyone else."

"Happy would rather be with you. And he's just as good a bodyguard as he is a chauffeur – which is very good indeed. Keeping him with me was just indulgent, Pep – he was great for Tony Stark but he couldn't keep up with Iron Man."

"And Iron Man has Captain America." The bitterness was there again. Much as Pepper was trying to hide it, Tony knew her too well not to see behind the mask of lightness.

"Steve only pretends to be my bodyguard," Tony said. "And there's no way I'm gonna let him drive."

There was an even longer pause, then Pepper said, "But can he remember your social security number?"

"Jarvis does that," Tony said calmly.

"So you've replaced me with a computer program." The bitterness was no longer hidden. "And just who has replaced me in your bed, Tony?"

 _Fuck_ was what Tony thought. What he said was, "Well, according to you, you haven't been in my bed recently either, so it's hardly your business, is it?"

"Is it Van Dyne?"

Tony's guffaw was spontaneous – and very relieved. "Bad guess. And why stop at one woman? After all, I never commit to anyone, do I?"

"I thought you had..." It was a whisper.

Tony had to take several deep breaths before he could control his voice enough to answer. "So did I," he said. "But I guess we both learned better."

"Then I guess that will be all, Mr Stark."

"For the moment, yes, Miss Potts."

Tony reached out a long arm and placed the phone on the table – situated precisely where it was easy to pick up a drink which would not be contaminated by splashes from either the pool or the spa. Unfortunately, his own glass was empty.

_And, God, I need another drink right now._

He contemplated the still, glimmering water of the swimming pool, striving for control of his breathing. 

He knew he could get out of the spa and go for a swim without hesitation. He operated the Iron Man suit under water every few weeks. He often stood beneath the shower with water cascading over his face, even if he still had to brace himself to do it.

So.

The pool was close by but the spa was over eight feet in diameter and the jets had stopped automatically a few minutes ago.

He took half a dozen deep breaths before closing his eyes, bending forwards and sliding down beneath the water surface.

Even before it closed over him his lungs were screaming for air, his heart thundering as the old terror gripped him, but he forced his body into obedience, hands hooked under the rim of the underwater seating. He had beaten Ten Rings then and their legacy would not defeat him now—

 _I'm in control. My mind is my own. I do not have PSTD, just a few bad dreams. I'm always in control._

 

Steve looked with satisfaction at the ingredients lined up on the worktop beside the stove – pasta and the meatballs he had defrosted using the microwave, fresh tomatoes, basil and olive oil that he was going to blitz in the blender, parmesan, lettuce for a salad, and good bread and butter. 

Tony had been so surprised that he could cook that Steve wondered what he thought people ate in the thirties – probably that Steve had been in line at the soup kitchens all the time – but his mother had always had a job and as soon as he could hold a mop or a knife he had earned extra money in Brooklyn eateries. Of course it had been mainly washing up and chopping vegetables, but he had kept his eyes open and added to his basic home-cooking knowledge by observation.

He glanced at his watch. Tony should have been out of the spa by now but was probably waiting for that Martini he wasn't going to get. At least not from Steve. Or, if he really was that stiff, he might have had problems getting out. He'd better go and lend a hand if necessary.

"Jarvis, directions to the pool, please."

 

While annoyed at Jarvis's sudden and inexplicable silence in the latter stages of his journey, Steve followed the smell of chlorine and arrived on the terrace beside the swimming pool without mishap.

The spa – and the pool – was empty.

But there was a highball glass and a StarkPhone on the table next to the spa, and Tony's robe was hanging from a rail next to the shower.

He had to be here somewhere...

There was a dark shadow in the spa. Someone – a body? – was floating face down in the still water.

Steve covered the distance to the spa in three swift strides, reached down into the water, grabbed Tony's shoulders and hauled him out over the edge. 

And Tony fought him, struggling even before his face had cleared the water, and yelling, "What the fuck?" as soon as there was air in his lungs.

Steve, white-faced and terrified, shook him so hard Tony's jaw set in an obvious attempt to stop his teeth rattling. "What the _hell_ do you _think_ you were _doing_?" Steve snarled.

"Steve! Let up. I'm fine," Tony snarled right back through clenched teeth. "Talk about over-reaction!"

"How the hell was I supposed to react? You could have been dead!"

"Well, I'm not. You could just have asked! Or probably heard my heartbeat, given how good your hearing is."

Steve's hands eased their grip, though he did not let go. "You're shaking," he pointed out, and his own voice was not steady.

"I'm cold. You just pulled me out of a hot spa into the freezing night." Tony shrugged Steve's hands away and reached for his robe. "I don't suppose you brought me that Martini?"

"It's not cold out here even without the damn heaters and if you're going to drink on an empty stomach you can make the Martinis yourself. And you don't get off the hook that easily. What were you doing, Tony?"

Tony did not look at him. "Holding my breath," he said shortly. "More than that just isn't your business, Steve."

Steve's face set into expressionlessness as he tried to conceal the hurt. He had bared his own heart to Tony but his lover had just shut him out. By time Tony turned to look at him, dark eyes huge and only a faint flush visible on the planes of his cheekbones, Steve's best poker face was in place.

"Now," Tony said, "did you find anything for dinner, or shall we call for takeout?"

"Pasta," Steve replied curtly. "Now get changed. I'm not cooking for you to eat in the dining room in that outfit."

"I bet you'd prefer I came naked," Tony said, with a leer.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Get changed, Tony," he snapped, and headed for the kitchen.

 

They ate the pasta in near silence. Tony had arrived bearing a bottle of red wine and wearing, not the jeans and tee Steve had expected, but a formal suit that made Steve feel under-dressed in his chinos and wife-beater.

Steve had not protested about the wine, hoping that it would make Tony relax a little and, indeed, by the time they reached the ice cream and coffee the conversation had started to flow again, though neither of them referred to the angry exchange at the pool. There were odd pauses, though, and they had lost their physical easiness.

Tony's refusal to be honest with him had destroyed Steve's confidence in the strength of their newly forged relationship— if, indeed, Tony even thought of it as a relationship.

 _We've fought before,_ Steve reminded himself. _It's never made any difference._

But it mattered so much more today, and he had so much more to lose.

"Brandy?" Tony asked, making his way up the marble steps and round the grand piano to the bar.

"Not for me." And Steve hated it when Tony used drink to hide behind. He looked around seeking inspiration for a neutral topic. The grand piano provided it. "Do you play?" he asked, nodding at it.

"A little," Tony admitted. "Mom thought I needed a broader education and music appealed to me more than painting or acting."

"You don't have a piano at the Penthouse," Steve pointed out.

Tony shrugged. "Bad memories. Obie used to play the previous one that stood here sometimes and Pepper doesn't like modern jazz, which is what I mainly play – used to play."

"Previous one?"

"That one was black. It sort of got in the way of the armour. And the roof."

Steve chuckled. "So you replaced it in red." Encouraged by these confidences, he said, "You've mentioned an 'Obie' before. I presume that was Obadiah Stane. He was your father's partner, wasn't he? Died in an air crash around the time you were creating Iron Man?" 

Tony stared at him with widened eyes; then his surprised expression cleared. "You looked him up on the net, right?"

"Well, the name wasn't in SHIELD's briefing pack."

Tony nodded. "That's no surprise. And neither Fury nor Pepper would have told you the true story."

"The crash was a cover up?"

"You bet." Tony took a gulp of brandy. "I killed him."

Steve watched his expression, suspecting Tony was waiting for condemnation. "I guess you had a good reason."

Tony squinted at him. "I keep forgetting how little you actually know about my past. Obie – Stane – was the one who really ran the company after Dad's death. He... was like a favourite uncle, you know. But he was also the one who arranged my little sojourn in Afghanistan, in an attempt to steal the company and keep on selling my tech to terrorists. When I got back, he stole the arc reactor out of my chest and used it to power his own version of Iron Man, just about twenty times bigger."

The revelation was horrifying. "He was the Iron Monger – the 'robot' you fought across LA. The one you were supposed to be defending Stark Industries from?"

Tony nodded.

"Jesus." Steve was beginning to realise just how deeply Tony had been betrayed in the past. Pepper's was probably the final straw. It would be amazing if he had any capacity for trust left.

_No surprise he slapped me down earlier, then. How can I expect him to trust me after all of this? I may have destroyed any chance of that without realising it. And what the hell can I say now?_

The scarlet piano provided immediate inspiration: "Have you even played this one?" he asked, then bit his tongue as he realised that might have been exactly the wrong thing to say.

Tony blinked at him in surprise. "Never seemed like the right time," he admitted, a little wistfully.

It was that wistful note that gave Steve the nerve to say, "Play for me now, Tony. Replace the bad memories with new ones."

Tony hesitated just a moment, sipping at the amber liquid in the glass in his hand. Then he sat down at the piano stool, lifted the keyboard cover and began to pick out a scale. After a few moments, that changed to a sequence of chords and then a simple tune, which eased into syncopation... 

Steve sat down on the marble steps and listened as the music grew more complex, Tony frowning in concentration. Steve had thought he knew jazz, but this was different, sparer and often puzzling. One more thing that had changed while he had been frozen in the ice. He wasn't sure yet if he liked it or not... 

Tony looked down at him and smiled dreamily, plainly still lost in the music; he must have missed it as much as Steve had missed drawing most of the time he was in the field. Then what he was playing shifted from improvised jazz to something far more tuneful and romantic, completely at odds with the so-called 'rock' and 'heavy metal' that were his normal musical choices.

It was something from memory, though, because there was an occasional discordant note, a fluff that somehow made it even more endearing. Steve guessed that it was something that, if he hadn't skipped the last seventy years, he would have recognised.

"Does that have words?" Steve asked, when the last notes had died away.

Tony looked flustered and a little guilty as he closed the keyboard. "Umm. What?"

A question Tony wanted to avoid answering then, like so many. Steve found it easy to resist any temptation to push. He sought quickly for a neutral comment – or a complimentary one. "You play very well," he said, and was surprised when Tony didn't come back with a smart- ass crack about Steve's singing voice, as he had so often in the past. Though, now he thought about it, Steve had never heard Tony sing. Hum, yes. Whistle occasionally. "Do you sing as well as you play?"

"Uh-uh," Tony said, with what sounded very much like relief. He tapped the arc reactor. "Not enough lung capacity."

"Didn't notice that when we were kissing."

_Or earlier at the pool, but I'd better not mention that._

Tony laughed, spun the piano stool round, bent down and kissed him.

He tasted of fine Cognac but it wasn't that that sent fire racing through Steve's veins. He rose into Tony's arms, deepening the kiss, hands sliding down the strong back to grip his ass.

Tony gave a gasp that was half surprise, half pain. Steve pulled his hands away as if burned, but Tony hung on tightly.

"Shhh. Hot tubs don't work miracles and I don't heal as quickly as you," he muttered against Steve's mouth. "C'mon. Let's take this to the sofa and get comfortable."

_Damn, damn. How could he have forgotten why Tony had been in the spa in the first place?_

But Tony was grinning as he pulled him over to the long seat beneath the curve of window. Steve went willingly. Between relief and desire he would have done anything for Tony at this moment.

They collapsed onto the long seat under the curving window, mouths locked together, kissing ferociously, hands seeking skin. Deliberately, Steve kneaded the muscles in the small of Tony's back.

"God, that's good," Tony gasped. "Your hands are... oh Christ..." 

Steve grinned to himself, but he was growing increasingly uncomfortable. His erection, trapped between the leather seat, pants that were suddenly far too tight, and Tony's hip was now actually painful.

Then Tony pulled him into his lap and he only had the pants to deal with.

All the same...

"M'too heavy," Steve protested, trying to shift.

"Not," Tony said, nipping at the base of his neck.

Despite this distraction, pressed into Tony's lap, Steve could not help but realise that Tony was not even half-hard. He shifted, trying disguise his own erection, but while the other man's right hand was still hooked behind his head, his left hand slid down Steve's body to his fly, unzipped it and reached inside...

_Oh god..._

"You... don't have to..." Steve gaped, even as he thrust into Tony's hand.

"Yes, I do. Shhh, baby. Let me do this for you." Tony's fingers were working with such easy skill that Steve could no longer resist, even if he had wanted to, or frame any further words.

 

"Was that good?" Tony asked, dropping the tissues he had been using to clean them both to one side and wrapping both arms around Steve's chest.

_Good isn't the right word. Astonishing, maybe._

"You didn't have to do that," Steve said. "You weren't... I could..."

Tony kissed him gently. "Steve, darling, even when I was your age and building my playboy rep, I didn't have your needs or your stamina. There's no way I can keep up with a twenty-something super-soldier. But I have hands and a mouth and a lot of skill. There may be times when I won't want to do this, but right now, until I'm ready to go again I'm enjoying being able to do it for you."

There was nothing Steve could say to that; what he could do was kiss Tony with all the tenderness he could summon. 

"Teach me," he whispered.

"Mmm. Anything. What in particular?"

"How to do that – to do everything you like – for you."

Tony chuckled. "Oh, I will, eventually, but don't be in such a hurry. Just savour the moment."

Steve made a noise that was meant to be a chuckle, but came out more like a sob. "I'm so incompetent at this. So scared of losing you because of it."

"Not a chance, honey. Not a chance. It's... you're so beautiful, babe. So damn wonderful. And hot. God, I want you so much. I thought I'd already proved that, but if you wanna make it a challenge I'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to think, let alone doubt me."

"Promises, promises."

"You wait. But I hope you'll take pity on my aches and let us relocate back to bed."

"Sounds good to me," Steve said. At least this crisis seemed to be past and if sex was what Tony was willing to give him, then he ought to take that and be thankful. At least it would allow him to watch over him and keep him safe.

 

It was ironic, Tony thought, that he had promised to fuck Steve until he couldn't think straight, because he was the one who had somehow allowed Steve to root him out of bed in the pre-dawn dark, feed him coffee and pancakes, and chivvy him down onto the beach. Still, he was all too aware he had to cut Steve some slack after last night's misunderstandings.

So Tony shoved his hands in his pockets and watched the wind ruffle Steve's hair, as he stood looking out over an unusually calm Pacific ocean.

Despite all his efforts, something was still troubling Steve.

"So, why this sudden urge to come down here?" he asked. "I'm not taking a run, Steve. Because, really, you know me better than that." 

"When I first came here," Steve said, "it was in a raging storm. Your house was a beacon light to a safe haven. I wanted to clear my head, to see the beach and your house without the baggage. But not alone." He turned to look at Tony. "I'm not sure I want to do anything alone anymore."

The emotional rush that gave Tony made him want to dance on the spot, punching the air and yelling, "Yes!" What he actually did was smile at Steve and challenge him to, "Say that again when I've been tinkering for seventy-two hours straight in the workshop trying to meet a deadline."

"Have I ever complained?" Steve asked.

"No." Tony leaned in closer, letting Steve's body shelter him from the cold ocean wind skipping in over the swell. "Must admit I like having you around when I'm working, if only to bring me coffee. You know how to be quiet."

"Don't have much choice with 'Hard Rock' and 'Metal' pounding through the speakers," Steve pointed out.

It occurred to Tony for the first time that sitting through too loud music he didn't like must bother Steve, and yet he had endured hours of it, just to be with Tony. "Damn. I'm sure Jarvis and I can work out a way of isolating you from the racket," he said, squeezing Steve's hand. "Hell, I'll even wear earb—"

He was interrupted by his cell phone's standard ring. Which was odd because Jarvis was monitoring the number and only letting through calls from a select list, all of which had identifying ring tones.

Raising an eyebrow, he answered it. "Whoever you are, this had better be important."

"I want your word that you're not recording this," the caller growled in response.

"And good morning to you, too," Tony said, recognising the voice. He switched the phone to speaker and put a finger to his lips to warn Steve. "Jarvis, offline for precisely five minutes. No record of this conversation."

"Yes, sir," Jarvis's voice said.

"What's that background clatter?" his caller demanded.

"I'm on the beach," Tony said, with some satisfaction.

"At this time in the morning? I am talking to Tony Stark, right? And only Tony Stark?"

"You are." After all, Steve wasn't going to do any talking at all.

"You sure know how to get my staff riled up, Tony. And you know my rules about identifying a customer – even an ex-customer, because I understand Miranda has made it clear they ain't welcome in future – or she would have done if she'd been able to contact them."

"Not surprised. Not when the Pentagon is involved."

There was a long pause while the caller digested that. "You sure about that? Because that's not what I'm getting this end. Whichever, I ain't gonna worry about identifying an alias, which this one turns out to be."

"Go on."

"Name given by said scumbag, whether he was CIA or military or Al Qaeda was Cornelius E. Moorcock. The account on which he drew his cheques has been cleared out, but he was representing a holding company based in Singapore. Which I'm not going to identify for you, just in case it's legit."

"I'd bet it's already vanished."

"If it was ever there."

Tony said, with a sigh. "Thanks for your help."

"Don't mention it. Indeed, let me emphasise that you don't mention it. Because there isn't anything to mention. Particularly if doing so will bring the IRS down on my head."

"I won't – but thanks. I owe you."

"I take it that's your mysterious billionaire – the guy you lease the dining room from," Steve said, once the call had safely ended.

"Yeah." _And that's the first real question you've asked me since last night._

"You were taking a chance there," Steve said. "One word from me and you would have been the one barred from eating Miranda's cooking ever again."

"If I can't trust Captain America to have my back, who can I trust?"

Steve said nothing. Nor would he meet Tony's eyes.

Normally when they fought the reasons were clear cut and once it was over they quickly settled back into their – admittedly occasionally emotionally bumpy – friendship, with no resentment lost or gained. But it hadn't been like that last night. Once Tony's temper had cooled – and, boy, was his own reaction too damn revealing of his feelings – he realised that Steve was, for some reason, being as careful around him as he would have been walking through a minefield.

So Tony had tried to make things right with a night of – fantastic – sex.

It didn't seem to have worked.

_Okay, man up, Stark, because it's obvious he isn't going to._

"Steve," he said. "I'm sorry. You were upset last night—"

"Finding you floating face down in that tub scared me, Tony." Steve was trying for calm but not succeeding. "It scared you too, though I don't know why. I thought— I suppose I was taking too much for granted." He turned towards Tony and, with an effort, looked him directly in the eyes.

_God, he's brave._

"I need you to be alive," Steve said, "and— Well, you scared me."

Now it was Tony's turn to stare out to sea as the sun rose behind them and laid yellow light on rock and sand.

_I found out last night how much knowledge of my past he's missing. I know so much about him – from Dad, from Peggy Carter, from all the old friends who came to visit. Maybe he deserves an explanation._

"Last night," Tony said, "I was protecting myself."

"You don't need—"

"When I was captured by the Ten Rings," Tony ploughed on, ignoring the protest because he was pretty sure Steve didn't really mean it, "one of the tortures they used to try and force me to build weapons for them was to hold my head under water."

"Water boarding?" Steve was appalled.

"And where did you hear about that? No, Steve, not precisely. But close enough, I guess. I need to be sure of my own control, in case it happens again. I can't afford that weakness. But you were never meant to see that, Steve. No one was. And SHIELD couldn't tell you about it because I never told them, never told anyone the details."

Steve put his arms loosely around him. "I'm sorry I pushed last night, but not that I know. If you're going to do something like that again, warn me. You need a spotter."

"I've always had Jarvis."

"But he can't physically help you if something goes wrong."

"And he can't hold me through the shakes," Tony admitted, turning in Steve's arms and returning the hug. "Thanks, buddy."

"You've given me so much," Steve said into his hair. "Let me give you something in return."

Tony chuckled. "Well, you can come to the workshop with me and give me a hand upgrading the security around here. I have a meeting with Bartowlski tomorrow that I can't put off and it may take some time. But I want this place to be the safe haven for you – for us both – that you saw it as."

 

Steve's feet pounded in hard sand. Tony had said goodbye three hours ago. He would have been in conference for nearly all of that. He had decided on a morning run northward along the beach, on the principle that he wouldn't miss Tony so much if he was running, and it would allow the housekeeping contractors free access to the Malibu mansion under Jarvis's supervision.

The assumption had been quite wrong.

This time yesterday he had been in the workshop with Tony. Acting (and Steve had no doubts about his function there) in the same capacity as one of the helper bots (but Tony loved those bots) was, in its own way, as intimate as being in bed with him.

He could have been there now, but it wasn't the same without Tony, who was so much brighter, so much more experienced than he was...

_How long before Tony decided the whole thing had been a mistake?_

Even with such gloomy thoughts to accompany him, running was preferable to being in Tony's house without Tony.

But, far too soon, Steve's legs had begun to feel tired and now, reluctantly, he was re-tracing his steps home. 

The incoming tide was now crashing against the base of the headland on which the house stood, so Steve turned inland, testing himself against the stiff climb up the cliffs.

Arriving at the top, he had to pause to catch his breath.

So, he wasn't fully fit, though he had no intention of telling Tony that.

Jarvis, who oversaw the security here as at the Tower, made sure there was no impediment to his path back into the grounds. He was walking up to the door when the AI's voice spoke into the earbud communicator that Tony had insisted he wear every time he went beyond the house.

"Captain! There is an attempted kidnapping outside the main gate.”

"Inform Tony," Steve ordered as he took off at a run down the long snake of a drive. The palms on either side partially masked the high wall to his left, which would have prevented him seeing anything that was happening beyond. The gates, though, weren't solid, and he caught a glimpse of a black SUV beyond them.

Opening the gates would draw attention.

The walls on either side of the gate were ten feet high; a physical barrier that Tony had told him was more for show than an attempt to stop a determined attack. With a quick order to Jarvis to shut off the invisible force shields – which were really meant to stop such an attack – for five seconds, Steve vaulted the wall, and landed, running, on the other side.

The SUV he had seen from inside the gates was one of a pair, with a bright blue and yellow cab sandwiched between them. A dark haired woman Steve didn't recognise was putting up passive resistance against the two men in dark suits and sunglasses who were trying to load her into the further of the SUVs. A middle aged man, plainly the cab driver, stood beside his vehicle with his hands held high above his head, though the three men carrying some sort of vicious looking automatic carbines – or maybe SMGs, because the line between the two weapons seemed to have become blurred during the time he was in the ice – were not even covering him. Instead they were looking wildly about them, though their weapons remained still.

That told Steve that they were well drilled, and probably military, though he couldn't even guess what they were looking for. One of their number lay still on the tarmac, his gun beside him. There was no clue as to whether he was unconscious or dead.

No one seemed to have noticed Steve.

His immediate assessment was that they had no intention of killing the woman, but the numbers involved seemed excessive. The danger came from the men with the automatic weapons, though what they were looking for remained unknown.

Steve never paused in his stride, just adjusted his course slightly.

"Intruder! Your nine!" The shout came from one of the men holding the woman.

 _Definitely military_ , Steve decided, even as he jinked sharply to the right.

"Halt!"

"Hold it!"

A leap took him above the line of fire even as the automatic weapons clattered.

Then he was on his targets.

He didn't want to kill, because no one – with the exception of one of the would-be kidnappers' own – had actually been hurt so far, and this was going to be difficult to explain to the police in any event, but he had to disarm and disable them quickly, or the other two would be gone with the woman, so he couldn't be particularly gentle. 

So he was taking them down with a new ruthless efficiency which owed much to his martial arts instructors, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a sudden flash of light and heard a yelp of surprise and pain.

Chopping the last of his opponents in the throat, he whirled towards the place where the woman was being held, half expecting, and half dreading that she had already been forced into the car.

She hadn't. Indeed, one of the men was now lying still beside the SUV. The other was struggling to hold onto the woman who broke free using a classic defensive move.

Steve raced towards her, yelling, "Go!"

But she didn't run. Instead, she elbowed her attacker viciously in the solar plexus, a precise and well-judged blow.

There was another flash, seemingly from the air, and this time Steve thought he saw... well, something... in the air.

The man went down but his gun rattled as his figure tightened convulsively on the trigger, the shells ploughing runnels in the soil.

The cab driver took the opportunity to dive into his vehicle and speed off in a scream of abused tyres.

But there was another sound. Steve had been hearing the rhythmic noise of a helicopter for some time, but now it was growing louder and louder. When he looked he was expecting to see a police helicopter—

It wasn't a police helicopter or, indeed, like any helicopter Steve had ever seen. It was flying far too fast for any ordinary helicopter, dropping almost vertically from the sky, and those weren't machine guns or rockets it was deploying below its belly, but something he had never seen before... The only recognisable part of whatever-it-was was a lens, maybe five feet across. 

White light flared, accompanied by an ear-shattering crash and crackle, an artillery barrage in a thunderstorm. 

And the SUV and the men lying around it – vanished.

_Where the hell is it getting that sort of power?_

Steve made his decision instinctively. "Jarvis! Open the gates!" he shouted, grabbing the woman by the arm. "Run!"

She didn't hesitate, for which he was grateful.

The flash and ear-splitting roar came again, closer this time.

Ahead, the gates were swinging open.

"Jarvis! Once we're through, shields up!" Steve risked a glance behind him. There was no sign of any of the vehicles, or any of the men. But the helicopter – or whatever it was – was swinging in pursuit—

_We're not going to make it._

"Run – through the gates – don't look back," he ordered, dropping the woman's arm and swinging to face the aircraft.

_Sure wish I had my shield—_

Behind the scream of the aircraft's engines and the deceptive chugging of the rotor, Steve could hear another, more familiar noise.

Iron Man fell from the sky, between him and the chopper, repulsors glowing with blinding blue-white light, and, for the first time since Stuttgart, Steve saw all the armour's formidable armament arrayed at the same time.

He froze in horror, because all that weaponry would be as nothing if the helicopter's ray hit Tony—

But, even as he came level with the helicopter Iron Man fired not the weapons, but the repulsors.

The world exploded in white light.

And within that light came the sound of Iron Man's heavy weapons firing in unison.

Behind the afterimages, Steve saw the helicopter thrown across the sky by the repulsors, saw the beam projector on its belly exposed, and the missile, accompanied by the glowing fireflies of the Jericho weapon, strike the projector.

The helicopter rotor wasn't even turning now, yet the thing still flew, limping away over the ocean, Iron Man following in its wake.

Once it was almost out of sight from the shore – indeed, perhaps it was out of sight to everyone except Steve – the rotors were suddenly jettisoned and the no-longer-a-helicopter began what looked like a highly controlled fall, nose first, into the water.

Iron Man dived after it.

Seconds later, water heaved into the air and just behind it came the muffled sound of an explosion. A wave, taller than the swell, came rolling in to crash against the cliffs, spray raining down on the house.

Then the ocean was still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks. Still, the next chapter is about three quarters complete. (I hope.)


	23. Eye of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More information does not necessarily make things clearer...

Steve stood frozen in fear, staring at the surface of the ocean and finding no trace of machine or human. He activated the communicator in his ear. "Tony? Tony!" He could hear the note of panic in his own voice. "Jarvis, is Tony—?

"Mr Stark is unhurt," Jarvis's voice said in his ear.

"Physically unhurt," Tony elaborated, his voice echoing from Jarvis's local speakers, a fraction behind the voice in Steve's ear. "Mentally completely incapacitated. I will never criticise cheesy sixties sci-fi TV shows again. God help me, that was a _flying submarine._ " As he spoke, Iron Man surfaced and came rocketing back towards the gates. 

"You're only peeved because you didn't build it first," Steve told him. Relieved, he turned towards the woman he had rescued, but as he did so he spotted something unusual moving just above his head. Instantly, he snatched it from the air.

It squirmed in his hand.

And then, suddenly, it was growing larger and heavier, pushing his fingers apart. Moments later, Janet Van Dyne, clad in a blue pants suit – with ripped sleeves that were definitely not fashionable revealing the gleaming metal encasing her arms – was standing in front of him, her waist solid and warm against his palm.

He hurriedly dropped his hand, all too aware of the heat rising into his face, but he didn't have a chance to stumble through an apology because Jan threw herself at him. 

Steve, who had faced down Panzer tanks heading straight towards him, was almost knocked from his feet. Somehow, he managed to retain his balance while catching her up so that that force of her rush was, at least, dissipated.

"You're not a ghost!" she shouted, winding her arms round his neck and kissing him on both cheeks. "Damn it! Tony said you were dead."

Steve blushed even harder and put her down.

The woman he had rescued was on her feet beside the closed gates, looking quite commendably composed. 

"You okay?" he asked her, as Iron Man came in to land beside them.

"Yes. And thank you."

Jan, meanwhile, marched up to Iron Man and hammered her fists against the chest plate. "You – said – he – was – dead," she repeated, emphasising each word with a hard bang.

Tony lifted the faceplate. "I was sure he was," he told her.

"And he was right. Sorta," Steve said. "If you hadn't gone AWOL you'd already know that."

"Ha! I had reasons." Jan said, but now she was keeping her fists to herself.

"I'm sure you did. Welcome to sunny California," Tony said dryly. He turned to the other woman, and smiled."Hi, Helen of Troy. You're very welcome here. Steve, could you escort this pair back to the house? I need to call the cops about an attempted mugging that just took place outside my gates, and then CSI the... um... scene to make sure said cops don't find any evidence that contradicts my story. They won't push too hard. Jarvis is going to provide them with CCTV footage showing the muggers drove off in a hurry when Steve arrived, aren't you, Jay?"

"Indeed, sir. Editing now."

Then Tony was gone, though no doubt Jarvis would continue to feed him every word that was said.

Steve decided to leave his direct-to-Iron Man channel open. He might need it.

Jan rolled her eyes while 'Helen of Troy' grinned at them both and said, "Jan, aren't you going to introduce us?"

"We need to get out of sight," Steve said, spreading his arms a little in an attempt to herd the women, then withdrawing them to his sides as they began to amble housewards.

Jan waved a hand towards the other woman. "Meet Doctor Betty Ross. Betty, this is Captain Steve Rogers."

"Ma'am," Steve said, holding out a hand. "Forgive me for being unfit for company, but I'd just come in from a run when Jarvis gave the alarm."

Betty took the hand gingerly, but her grip was firm. "Captain Rogers." Her eyes assessed him. "And forgive _me_ for asking, but are you a product of my father's labs?"

Tony's voice said in his ear, and this time only in his ear: "Her father is Army Lieutenant-General Thaddeus Ross, also known as 'Thunderbolt'. She and Bruce were working for him on replicating the super-soldier serum when Bruce's 'accident' occurred." 

It was a warning.

"No, ma'am," Steve answered.

Betty was frowning. "If you didn't know who I was how can you be sure who my father is? And so confident he had nothing to do with your powers?" 

"All the people involved in creating the... process that gave me these so-called powers are dead," Steve said. "Have been for a while."

 _A longish while._

Jan's expression was saying, quite clearly, "Are we keeping the truth from her?"

Steve gave her a warning glance and a slight headshake. Both Tony and Bruce thought highly of Betty Ross but if she had worked on a super-soldier project, had helped to create the Hulk, if inadvertently, and was the daughter of the head of that project...

That Tony had spoken so admiringly of Betty's beauty – and he had not exaggerated, or not very much – was definitely not influencing Steve's judgement. He wasn't jealous, or scared of losing Tony. Not at all.

"So someone else must have duplicated the super-soldier process," Betty was saying. "No wonder Dad is furious. The nearest he got was Blonsky." Then, as Steve and Jan stared at her, Betty added, "The thing Bruce was fighting when he wrecked Harlem. The press dubbed him 'the Abomination."

"Ah, yes, the half-as-strong-twice-as-angry version of the Hulk the World Security Council wanted on the Avengers Initiative," Tony said. Then: "Yes, yes, lieutenant, I'm listening," to someone whose voice Steve couldn't hear, presumably on another frequency. Local law enforcement, Steve supposed, though he had no idea what organisation that might be.

_Dear God, this was getting more complicated by the second._

"Who were those guys, anyway?" he asked Betty and Jan. "And why did that helicopter crew kill their own men?"

"I don't think they did. I mean, I don't think the helicopter had anything to do with the people trying to kidnap Betty," Jan said. "The guys in the SUVs only had ordinary weapons and they were awfully polite about taking her."

"They were military," Steve contributed.

The women exchanged glances. "He wouldn't," Betty said but she did not sound certain.

"He may not be the one in charge right now," Jan pointed out.

"Your father?" Steve asked Betty, who nodded. "Is he why you're here?"

"We were running for cover," Jan said. "Tony told Betty to come in if necessary. We could have headed for Stark Tower, but I figured they'd expect that and I knew he'd reopened this place, so here we are."

Here, indeed, they were. Jarvis opened the doors to the house without being asked and Steve led the way through to the huge living area.

They had only just arrived when Tony's voice spoke from Jarvis's hidden speakers. "Steve, I need you in the workshop. Jan, you'd better call Hank. If he's noticed you're gone he'll be frantic with worry by now."

"Not likely," Jan replied. "He had a project."

"Do it all the same. You know where the guest rooms are. You and Betty can clean up there. I couldn't find any trace of your luggage – if you had any – but the rooms come equipped with nightwear and all the toiletries you might want. Also, Pepper left some clothes here. They'll be about right for Betty, though they'll swamp Jan. So—"

"Internet shopping," Jan said. "My fashion house has a branch in LA. I'll contact the manager. Meanwhile, I may borrow one of your shirts. Right this way, Betty."

 

In the workshop, the dedicated bots were just finishing stripping Tony of the armour while Steve tapped in the access code and Jarvis let him through the security wall.

"I see you needed lots of help with the suit," he said, with a hint of irony.

"Didn't say I needed you for that," Tony said. "Miss me?"

"You know I did."

"Then c'm here."

Steve went willingly into Tony's arms and rested his forehead against his, as all the adrenaline-fuelled energy drained away, leaving him aching and tired.

Tony, though, Tony was trembling.

Knowing better than to remark on it, Steve just held him tightly and waited for some kind of explanation.

He didn't get it.

Instead, Tony pushed him to arm's length and frowned at him. "Hey, baby, just how far did you run this morning?"

That, Steve thought, was dreadfully unfair. He wished he'd gotten his own question in first.

"You left when I did," Tony went on, "and you haven't changed. So you must have been either coming back or on your way to shower when Jarvis called you to the... altercation... at the gate. That can only be seconds before he called me. Steve, you were out there for nearly four hours."

"I'm fine, Tony."

"No you damn well aren't. Jarvis says you have only two thirds your normal strength and speed, and your reaction times—"

"Were good enough," Steve retorted. He deliberately softened his voice. "Though I'm real grateful to my partner for the assist."

Tony sighed. "A week ago I was sure you were dead. Since you've gotten back you've come damn near to dying twice. I know you can't resist someone in need, but please, babe, for the sake of my nerves, wait until you're fully recovered before you start pushing it. Though I could make you a suit of armour—"

"No, Tony. But next time I go for a run I'll take my shield."

Tony abruptly dropped his hands. "And exhaust yourself even more carrying its weight? That's supposed to be better? Steve, please don't make me order Jarvis to keep you confined here."

"You won't do that even if you could," Steve retorted angrily. "And, believe me, you can't hold me against my will."

"You aren't the damn Hulk, and to keep you alive I'd do far worse than that," Tony snapped. He took several deep breaths, then said, "Oh, go get cleaned up, Steve. And some rest while you're about it."

"I tell you I don't need—"

"A shower? You certainly do." Tony turned towards his computer array. "And I have work to do here. We'll talk when you're ready to see sense."

"When _I'm_ —"

"Go, Steve!"

Still seething, Steve clamped his lips shut on his angry words, and went. Maybe a cold shower would help him calm down. And in more ways than one, because, to his dismay, the exchange with Tony had left him strongly sexually aroused.

 

When Tony entered the master bedroom, he found Steve asleep on the bed, fully clothed except for his shoes. He looked just as pale and exhausted as he had down in the workshop. Tony ached to stretch out beside him and take him in his arms.

But he needed sleep. And after their argument in the workshop he might not welcome the contact.

_Though he is still in my bed._

Taking heart from that, Tony cat-footed it into the dressing room and extracted a couple of his own cotton shirts, several plain t-shirts, a new pair of jeans, cut-off shorts that Pepper had once misplaced and which he had kept hidden, and a kimono that he had brought her as a present some years ago, which he had never actually seen her wear in public.

With the clothes carefully draped across one arm, he was making his way back towards the stairs when Steve's voice said, "Tony..."

He turned back; Steve was leaning on one elbow, looking at him rather fuzzily.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Tony said.

"I didn't mean to go to sleep," Steve admitted, as Tony draped the clothing he was carrying over a chair and came back to sit on the edge of the bed. "To be honest, I didn't think I could. Once I'd calmed down I kept remembering how scared I was when I thought you were going to be executed, back in Wakanda, and when I found you in the spa – and how, down in the workshop, you were shaking."

Tony felt himself shudder. "I'm still shaking," he said, because there was no disguising it. "When I got there you were standing right in the path of a disintegrator ray of some kind – God, I can't believe I'm saying that. I had maybe three seconds to take the thing out before it got both of us. Despite the really rather scary parallels, your nickname isn't Buck, Rogers—" He stopped in horror, the joke dying on his lips because... God, how could he have been so crass? "Oh, shit, Steve, I'm sorry. I forgot about Barnes. Buck Rogers was—"

"I know all about Buck Rogers," Steve said quietly. "But I'm amazed you've even heard of him. And my Bucky... played at being him when he was a kid. Nickname came as much from that as from Buchanan."

"There was a very bad TV series. With a comic robot."

"It can't have been worse than the 1939 serial. I'm sure Bucky would have loved it," Steve said. He took a deep breath, plainly bracing himself for an attempt to pretend it didn't matter. "Ironic that I was the one frozen and who woke up in the future. But you're still evading. What happened that you aren't telling me?"

_I keep forgetting just how bright Steve is. And how stubborn. He's going to keep on at me until I tell him. Well, something to satisfy him, at least._

"Nothing important. I was closing in on the flying sub," Tony explained. "Even though I'd knocked out the disintegrator, I was being cautious. But I wanted to get a proper look at that tech, so I was hoping to disable it. But the damn thing suddenly blew up. So I didn't."

"Was the armour damaged?"

Tony flinched.

"It was, wasn't it? And it leaked?"

"No. It didn't. Really, Steve."

"That was why you needed me to hold you. Because I'd promised."

"No. The suit did not leak. Jarvis! Was the armour's integrity breached?"

"No, sir. It was not."

Steve did not look at all convinced, but so long he didn't think to ask whether the explosion had done so much damage that the armour might have sprung several leaks unless he surfaced at once – or Jarvis didn't rat to him – he would have to accept it, because Jarvis always told the truth.

_Unless I order otherwise._

"I'm sorry I lost my temper, Tony," Steve said. "I was scared too. But that's no excuse for forgetting you've already had to cope with me being dead. I'll try to take more account of your feelings in future, I promise."

"Neither of us is used to this," Tony said. "Pepper tried to tell me how much she hated watching me risk my neck, but I never took any notice."

_Because I'd gotten used to ignoring her protests about my lifestyle and way of running the company. She was my right hand, and that was the problem. I never really thought of her as ... separate from me, I suppose. Yet she did the bravest things when I asked. Because she loved me? Or because she was used to obeying me when it came to the crunch?_

"I've been fighting all my life," Steve said. "Before the serum, I mostly lost. After it, I started to win but that doesn't matter. Fighting is what I do. If I don't fight, what am I, Tony?"

"You mean apart from being Captain America, the leader of the Howling Commandos, field leader of the Avengers, a first class artist, a damn good cook, and my partner and lover? Dad used to say you were the best man he ever met: I guess he had to be right at least once."

Steve snorted. "Howard kept that opinion pretty quiet, back in the war."

"Did he? He never shut up about you after it."

There was a small, affectionate smile as on Steve's face as he absently rubbed Tony's thigh. "Maybe he was one of those people who can't tell other people how they feel about them. I suspect he never shut up about you to his friends and colleagues."

"No, he—" But Tony didn't know whether Howard had or not.

And Steve wasn't just talking about his father, was he?

_Oh, god. You're talking about me as well as Howard. But if I tell you how much I— everything will vanish. I can't..._

The smile had disappeared from Steve's face as he watched Tony work it out, and probably seen his dismay.

"Maybe he thought you knew?" Tony whispered. "Maybe I'm... darling, don't you know?" Terrified of the response, he leaned down and kissed Steve, who pulled in those last few inches to lie across his chest. 

Tony went willingly, deepening the kiss. When they paused for breath, he said, into the curve of Steve's neck, "Time for a quickie?" He was already reaching for the zip on Steve's fly when his wrist was grasped in a warm, but unbreakable grip. 

"Even if we did – and aren't Jan and Betty waiting for those clothes? – it's not what I want right now."

"And what do you want?"

"For both of us to be naked, to have all the time in the world, to talk, to make love as quickly or slowly as the mood takes us, without enemies waiting somewhere beyond the gates."

"God, don't," Tony groaned. "I'm frustrated enough as it is."

"Sorry, sweetheart." Steve did not sound in the least sorry. "But really, do you want Jan to come in here looking for you right now?"

"I wish I could say that she wouldn't because she almost certainly knows about us. She was dropping hints back in Wakanda that she understood how I felt about you. But that makes her more likely to try and surprise us, not less."

"She kinda warned me, back at the Oklahoma base, though I think she was telling me not to take you seriously. And Thor already knows and approves. I'm not taking bets against Natasha and Clint working it out, either.”

"I've no intention of trying to hide our relationship from the team." Tony's mouth twisted slightly. "The press is a different matter.

"You're the one who's lived his life in a media storm. I don't want to do any damage to you or your company—"

Tony put his fingers over Steve's mouth. "Hush. You won't. I just wish we had the next week or so to ourselves."

"I'd rather I had you to myself too," Steve said, "but I guess that's the price we pay for being Avengers."

"We may not have to pay it forever," Tony said.

"Go on," Steve said, giving him a gentle push. "Take those clothes to the girls. Once I find my shoes I'll head for the kitchen and see what we can do about lunch."

Then, just as Tony reached the door, his arms full of clothes, he heard Steve say, quietly but very determinedly, "And, yes, I do know." 

Tony paused, but did not dare turn or speak. His heart was pounding.

"And, just in case you don't," Steve went on, "I feel that way too. When you're ready, I'll say it."

Tony hesitated, fighting the impulse to turn back, fling the contents of his arms aside, and fill them with Steve instead.

He resisted it, but he was grinning from ear to ear as he made his way downstairs.

 

Steve was examining the contents of the newly restocked refrigerator when he heard a noise behind him – the sort of small noise that someone makes when they want you to know they are there without startling you. Steve looked round to find Jan hitched up onto a stool at the breakfast bar, looking at him thoughtfully. She was still wearing the blue pants, together with a white shirt that was far too big for her and therefore was almost certainly Tony's, but her feet were bare and she looked cool and relaxed. "I forgot you can cook," she said. "I was expecting to have to do something myself because Tony certainly can't. Can I help?"

"That depends. When did you and Betty last eat?"

"We grabbed a burger last night."

"Brunch then?" Steve asked. "There's a lot we can throw together, and we have plenty of eggs."

"Sounds good. Neither of us is vegetarian, by the way," Jan said as she opened several cupboard doors, then, finding a glass, headed for the faucet.

"I assumed that from the burgers," Steve said. "We have beer, wine and soda, as well as sparkling water, by the way."

Jan braked. "I could murder a cold beer," she said, and Steve waved her towards the cooler. "Do you want me to make coffee?"

"Please. If you can operate that thing." He nodded towards the fearsomely complex coffee machine. "I always expect it to blow up or take off."

"Like anything of Tony's, it probably can," Jan retorted. She looked sideways at Steve. "Is he okay? Tony, I mean. He was... distraught... by your apparent death in Wakanda, then there was Pepper... You know he's broken up with Pepper?"

"He's filled me in what happened during the time I was in Asgard," Steve replied, trying for neutrality. 

"Asgard? It really exists? What's it like?"

Good. He'd managed to distract her. "Like nothing on Earth. It isn't even a world in the way we know it: a mixture of wildly advanced technology and Dark Ages society and things that look very much like magic, at least to me."

"Thor says that magic is simply science we don't understand yet," Tony said from the door. "And I will drink to that." He made for the cooler, Betty following at his heels. 

Steve heaved a mental sigh of relief. It was much easier to cope with conversations about Thor and Asgard than about himself or Tony; in particular about himself and Tony.

 

As Tony vetoed any briefings on the events that had resulted in Jan and Betty arriving at the Malibu house or the attempted kidnapping of the latter, Asgard was the subject of the conversation through much of their meal. Apparently, Jan had already filled Betty in on why she (and Tony) had thought Steve was dead. It seemed that Betty had already been told part of the story, though Tony had drawn him aside and warned him that Wakanda and T'Challa were not to be mentioned.

So just how far did Tony and Jan really trust Betty Ross?

Betty had been Bruce's partner in more ways than one, and Bruce was smart, in some ways as smart as Tony. It figured that Betty might be their equal.

On the other hand, Jan was a different kind of smart, closer to his own kind, perhaps. Still brilliant, but more practical, and certainly more savvy about human relations. If she trusted Betty, Steve was willing to follow her lead.

 

"Now," Tony said, settling next to Steve on the long seat underneath the windows, "tell us the whole story. Jarvis, record this please."

"Of course, sir."

Betty's expression was a mixture of fascination and astonishment. "How can Mr Jarvis be managing security both here and at the Tower?" she asked.

"He also helps me pilot the armour," Tony said, with a secretive smile.

"I am an Artificial Intelligence, Dr Ross," Jarvis explained.

"My God," Betty breathed. "No one thinks that's going to be possible for years."

"He likes to pass the Turing test with everyone he meets," Tony said. "I think it boosts his ego."

"You did make me in your image, sir."

Betty burst out laughing. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Jarvis."

"And I you, Dr Ross."

"I'll try to begin at the beginning," Betty said. "You remember, Tony, that I promised you I'd try to locate my father, and sound out whether his research team was still in existence. I had to be at a conference in Washington so it wasn't too difficult to find out where Dad was living."

"But it was odd that, though supposedly suspended, he wasn't there very often," Jan added.

"I called Jarvis, and he told me you weren't available but put me through to Jan. She suggested a plan."

"Not that much of a plan. Simply that Betty paid a visit—"

"Supposedly to see Dad, but letting him realise I was trying to find information about Bruce, while actually—"

"—giving me a ride in her pocket so I could explore the place as the Wasp."

"Dad was home," Betty said. "We talked. I'm pretty sure he knows where Bruce is."

"Maybe he thinks he's at the Tower," Jan warned, "as he's sure to have seen Hank's performance in New York. But there was enough in General Ross's study to convince me that his research group was still in business, as you suspected, Tony. One thing you need to know right now, boys, is that Ross knows – or, more precisely, thinks he knows – that Steve's dead. And he's desperate to get his hands on your body, Cap."

"Jan!" Betty reproved her, but her eyes were narrowed as she stared at Steve.

Jan grinned unrepentantly. "Not the way that sounded, though he wouldn't be the only one, would he?" she added, winking at Tony.

Who wasn't going to answer that one. But it was obvious that Jan wasn't going to keep that information to herself, and Steve was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"I make the funnies," Tony said tartly. "So get on with your story, Queen Bee."

"Oooh. Touchy. Well, I got into the computer in General Ross's office and downloaded the hard drive and whatever was stored in the Cloud. I must say your personal toys are even better than those you put on the market, Mr Billionaire Genius. The data is encrypted and probably crammed with viruses – virii? – so I figured I'd better consult you before accessing it."

"Which is why you came here," Tony said.

"Partly. It was a bit unfortunate that my hack set off the alarms and I had to fly out of the window carrying a Stark Industries minidrive. I thought for a while I was going to have to shout for help from Avengers' tower to rescue Betty – but she was talking with her father when the hack took place, so finally they let her go."

"Except I was under escort."

"I got rid of those goons easily enough," Jan said. "Then Betty and I switched places."

"You shrank Dr Ross?" Tony was delighted.

"It was an interesting experience," Betty said serenely, "though I would rather the deal had included the wings. And I'm still not convinced it's possible."

"Without re-writing the laws of physics," Steve said, even as Tony and Jan chanted, in unison:

"Ye canna change the laws of physics, Captain."

Betty threw back her head and laughed.

Even Steve, who probably didn't understand the reference, smiled.

"You still have the downloads?" Tony asked.

Jan reached a hand inside her cleavage, pulled out what looked like a rather fat memory stick and tossed it to Tony. "Remember it's probably full of malware and viruses."

"We'll give this to Jarvis," Tony said. "He eats viruses."

"I appreciate your confidence, sir," Jarvis said dryly. 

"And let Nat have a copy once you're sure it's safe, Jarvis," Tony ordered, "and send a record of this briefing plus your video of the attempted kidnapping and the helicopter-submarine to the Tower, marked for the urgent attention of Barton and Romanoff. They may have some ideas."

 

"So Ross is in this up to his scrawny neck," Clint said, his holographic image staring straight at Betty as if trying to force a confession of complicity from her.

"Ross is obsessed with Cap and the Other Guy," Tony said. "He doesn't like me but I don't think trying to kill me is a priority. Certainly killing Betty isn't. Nor does he have access to the type of tech used in that attack or that Steve, Jan, Hank and I saw in Africa. If he still thinks Steve is dead he certainly wasn't privy to the attack on us by the War Machine armour. To which he never had access."

"A puppet of the Pentagon, then," was how Natasha dismissed him.

"Dad doesn't make a good puppet," Betty corrected her.

"No, but he's a soldier and a patriot," Jan said.

"And obsessed," Betty agreed. "One thing about Dad is he never gives up; in fact, being defeated just makes him more determined."

"And that would make him useful to other interests," Steve said. "We know that certain elements in the Pentagon, Congress and the White House are working against us."

"You're not saying the President knows about this?" Betty was horrified.

"There's been no indication of it," Natasha said. "Though I'm sure she is as interested as anyone else in making use of the Avengers and Stark's tech. It's possible she knows of the aims but not the illegal methods being used, particularly with the election so close and her interests focused elsewhere."

"I could talk to her," Tony said. "Stark Industries was a major donor to her last election campaign and possibly to this one, though that's now Pepper's business, rather than mine. I think she might spare me five minutes of her time."

"I'd advise against it," Natasha said.

Clint nodded. "It might tip our hand. Which, as it's no more than a couple of low value pairs, isn't going to scoop the pot for us. I say we continue to bluff."

 

Through the evening Jarvis continued to work dealing with the malware downloaded onto Jan's minidrive, which he had pronounced to be the most sophisticated he had ever encountered. Tony retreated to the workshop where he was now working on upgrades to the armour. Steve suspected these were necessitated by this morning's underwater explosion, a speculation that made him anxious and touchy. Though Tony would welcome his company, even with the questions he wanted to ask, a nagging conscience (no doubt instigated by his mother's often voiced opinion) made it clear that it would be impolite to leave the Jan and Betty alone – and there was still the possibility that Betty was a security risk. So he accompanied them on their tour of the house and its many toys, but they were also edgy and found it impossible to settle, particularly when Jarvis interrupted to consult Betty on possible passwords.

They finally retreated to the kitchen, argued over what to cook for dinner, then consulted Tony (who growled to "tell Jarvis to order pizza or something"), and finally spent an argumentative hour consulting various menus before ordering a vast Chinese banquet because, as Jan said, "Tony can afford it, though he probably won't come and eat with us."

At that, Steve snorted, and headed for the workshop. His quick return, with Tony in tow, sent Jan's eyebrows climbing into her hair. 

Tony, however, only stayed long enough to refuel, answering questions in monosyllables and refusing the beer everyone else was drinking. 

"How caffeinated are you?" Steve asked him, in a mildly disapproving tone.

"Not enough," Tony said, and escaped back to the workshop.

 

At eleven fifteen, Jarvis announced that the malware had been removed and the data was accessible, or would have been if it was not encrypted, and Jan announced that she was whacked and was going to bed. Betty followed her. 

This left Steve free to head for the workshop. Tony, it appeared, had finished working on the armour, though his manufacturing bots had not, but he made no protest when Steve herded him upstairs to the master bedroom.

Not, Steve supposed, that that uncharacteristic compliance was going to last, but he'd take advantage of it while he had the chance.

 

Next morning, over breakfast, Steve had just announced that Jarvis had broken the encryption and was busy sorting the clear language files into order of importance when Tony came in, his cell in his hand. He was frowning. "I've had an urgent message from Stark Special Projects in Seattle. I need to fly up there and sort them out. Sorry." Though the words were addressed to the room in general, his eyes were on Steve.

"Tony, it's Sunday," Jan said.

"And the engineers are on triple time." Tony spread his hands. "Look, they don't have to work weekends. But if they're going to come in anyway, they need to be paid the proper rate. And if they yell for me to sort something out for them, I can hardly refuse."

"Has something gone wrong?" Steve demanded. "Are any of your distribution engineers in trouble?"

"I said Special Projects, Steve, not Energy. They're not working on the ARC reactor project."

"So what are they working on?"

"That's a surprise, but believe me, you're gonna love it. I'll be back as soon as I can – certainly by tonight. With all four of you here plus Nat and Clint working on the unencrypted files, I expect you will have solved everything by the time I get back." Tony's last words were spoken from the top of the stairs to the workshop. Not long afterwards, Iron Man took off, heading north.

 

Through the morning and into the afternoon, Jan, Betty and Steve were engrossed in reading everything Jarvis had sorted for them. By common consent, Steve dealt with the military details, Betty with the science – with Jan's occasional help – and Jan with the accounts and administration.

They were deep in a discussion resulting from the pooling of their respective deductions when Jarvis interrupted them:

"Captain, hurricane Sandro has suddenly increased from a category two to a category five hurricane. It is already the largest Atlantic storm on record and it is heading straight for the New England coast. It may make landfall anywhere between Washington DC and Maine, but the likeliest trajectory seems to be New York and Boston. It should make landfall in less than ten hours."

Steve thought about the vulnerable skyscrapers, the subway system and the low-lying islands with growing alarm. "Have you told Tony?" he asked, hoping that his partner would have some ideas.

"I have been ordered not to interrupt him without your order," Jarvis said. "Shall I do so now?"

But Steve's brain had clicked into gear. "No. Just wait a minute." There was one possible option. "Did Tony give Thor a dedicated cell phone or an Avenger's communicator?"

"No, Steve."

_Well, he did have excuses that evening. Probably still in shock._

"Do you have Dr Jane Foster's number then? Or Erik Selvig's?"

"Both."

"Call Dr Foster."

After about thirty seconds, a female voice said, "Foster. Who is this?"

"Captain Rogers. I'm sorry to trouble you, Doctor, but may I speak to Thor, if he's there?"

There was a squeal in the background that did not sound like either Thor or Selvig, even as Dr Foster said, "Yes. Yes, of course. Thor, honey, don't crush the cell. It's fragile, at least in your hands."

Then Thor's deep voice said, "Steven. Are you well?"

"Fine now, Thor."

"And you and Anthony? How do things stand between you?"

"They're good," Steve said quickly. "But, Thor, I may have to ask for your help. How much control do you have over the weather – specifically, storms? In this case, a hurricane."

There was another squeal from behind Thor and rapid female voices talking in near whispers. "A good amount," Thor said. "I can call up a wind or create one."

"There's a hurricane making its way up the East Coast. Is there any way you can stop it before it hits Manhattan?"

"No," Thor said. "But I may be able to turn it aside. Why was I not informed that this was happening?" he added sharply.

"I wasn't told either," Steve said.

"I was not asking you, my friend. I will set out at once."

"Can you get there in time?"

"Yes," Thor said, with that supreme confidence that came, Steve supposed from being a god and his mother's son. Though Odin might be even worse...

Jane Foster's voice, at a distance, cried, "Wait! Thor..." This was followed by kissing noises, then silence, then Dr Foster's voice again: "He's gone. You know, it never occurred to me that he would be able to do anything against something that big or I'd have asked him to go myself."

 _We don't know that he can,_ Steve thought, and quickly excused himself to Dr Foster. He would have to talk to Natasha and Clint, but first he needed to leave a message for Tony to call him as soon as he was free.

 

That turned out to be two hours later.

"Good work," Tony said, when Steve had finished briefing him. "I'm coming home."

"When will you be back?"

"I'm already in the suit and on my way. Less an hour."

"Great. Jan, Betty and I have been working through the files Jarvis has marked as important. Seems as if Ross has been negotiating with SHIELD to buy samples of my blood—"

"What the fucking—? How the hell did SHIELD get samples of your blood, Steve?"

"I was frozen in the Arctic; I woke up in New York. I have no idea how long I was in their hands before—"

"That's it! Fury is—" Tony bit off his words and Steve had the suspicion that that sentence was going to end in a threat. "And Bruce? Is there anything about Bruce?"

"That's even weirder. Ross has been given first refusal on the Hulk, as if they've somehow managed to tame the Other Guy but are willing to hand him over for... well, they aren't very clear on that, but favours are definitely involved. And what sound like threats."

"Who are 'they', Steve?"

"Nothing but what's either a code or a company name – 'Eternal Champions'. I have no idea what—"

"Sonofabitch!" It was a curse that Tony, so free with the f word, only resorted to in revelation. "Stay where you are. Look after Jan and Betty. I'm on my way east."

Steve's heart dropped clear through the soles of his sneakers. "Without me? Tony, you can't—"

"I'm in the suit," Tony pointed out. "Fastest way to get there, and even you can't cling to the suit all the way across the continent, Cap. We haven't got any other transport – at least, none that wouldn't mean one hell of a delay getting it to you."

Steve felt sickening disappointment. He wanted Tony here and safe but... "What's the emergency?" he asked.

"Remember that guy who was block booking my dining room? Cornelius E. Moorcock?"

"Yes, but I don't see..."

"I knew it seemed vaguely familiar, but couldn't figure out why. Among other things you missed while auditioning as an iceberg, a British guy called Michael Moorcock wrote several series of books whose characters were all incarnations of an 'Eternal Champion'. One of those characters was called Jerry Cornelius."

"So, someone's using his books to pick aliases? Doesn't explain why you're in such a hurry."

"One of those characters, Elric, had a magical sword that ate the souls of those it killed."

"And?" Steve still had no idea of Tony's reasoning.

"It was called 'Stormbringer'." 

Everything was suddenly clear, though, by God, it was a stretch. "You think it has something to do with that hurricane heading for the east coast."

"Well, I think I'd prefer Thor had some back up."

There was no arguing with that sentiment and Steve knew that the easiest way for him to lose Tony's trust was to question his ability to cope. "Be safe," he said, "and come back to me soon."

"Count on it," Tony said.

 

Though Tony flew as high as he dared and poured on the power, the trip to the East Coast took more time than he probably had to spare. At least he was moving faster than the hurricane. This suit was three times as fast as the Mark III, in which he had confounded the Air Force on his way back from Afghanistan where he had exacted a most satisfying revenge on the Ten Rings.

Perhaps it had been that mission that made him an Avenger, whatever Fury might think.

Jarvis kept him updated on Sandro and Steve occasionally came through with comments on their latest discoveries and speculations about Ross's files.

What was becoming clear was that Ross had had nothing to do with the attempts on his own life. He was only interested in Steve and Bruce – or rather, Captain America and the Hulk. He had had no access to War Machine and, indeed, seemed to have had no contact with the Air Force on any level. Looked like his masters were intent on not invoking inter-service rivalry. Or perhaps Ross was outside the chain of command, and was only a customer of their mysterious enemies.

It was Steve who brought Natasha and Clint into play in these conversations. He was, of necessity, matter of fact and business-like, but Tony could not hear his voice without the memory of waking in his arms, of making love (he might as well admit that that was what it was), of whispered endearments and moments of exquisite tenderness.

It made thinking clearly difficult.

And they hadn't even been able to snatch a private moment before he had departed to Seattle.

At least his affairs were now in order.

In New York, Clint and Hank were preparing both the Tower and the old Stark Mansion for an influx of displaced citizens if the hurricane reached them. Natasha had spoken privately to Maria Hill, whom she trusted, apprising her of Thor's attempt to turn Sandro. Hill would convey that message, equally privately, to Fury.

Through all this, Steve was the perfect tactical control, but Tony knew that was a mask, that he wanted, above all things, to be on the ground – or, in this case, the ocean.

Tony was glad he wasn't and hated himself for being glad. There were things he ought to say to Steve, that he wanted to say but somehow couldn't get past the voice of caution in his own head, telling him it was too soon, that it might not be real, that Steve was going to see through Tony's own masks and realise his mistake.

It was a relief, finally, to see the hurricane below him, white clouds blinding in the low sunlight, and was awed by its size. The spiral arms of cloud trailing out from the massive hub reached almost halfway across the Atlantic while brushing the coast of the Carolinas. Even from this height he could see lightning sparking in the eyewall. The bottom of the eye itself was invisible.

"It is almost stationary," Jarvis reported, "but is still building in strength, if slowly. This defies all known hurricane behaviour."

The irresistible force had just, Tony speculated, met the immovable object.

"Have you located Thor?" he asked.

"There is a point near the American coast around which the hurricane seems to be avoiding, though it is nowhere near the eye,"

"Inform Steve that he may lose contact with me, and let's go look."

 

Thor stood on the air, buoyed up by winds rising from below, his long blond hair rising like a halo about his head, his red cloak flying level with his shoulders, Mjolnir held aloft.

But every muscle in his body was straining, and, for the first time, Tony saw sweat on Thor's brow. 

"Ho! Iron Man!"

Somehow or other Thor's voice was clear despite the thunder.

The repulsors were on full power as Iron Man made his way closer to Thor; so were the loudspeakers.

"Having a little local difficulty?" those speakers bellowed.

"The winds obey me," Thor replied, "then suddenly they rebel. Each time I turn the storm someone or something turns it back towards the north and west. I ask the winds to die, they obey, but then strengthen again. Someone with great power is fighting me for control of the storm."

"Figures," Iron Man replied. "Any idea where they are?"

"Unless they also wish to waste time and energy fighting the winds I would suggest the calm at the centre, where they are also protected from any attack."

"The eye."

"Yes, but if I make my way there I cannot hold the storm here and it will sweep inland."

Behind the Iron Man faceplate, Tony smiled to himself. "Told Steve you'd need back up," he said. "Didn't think that meant I'd get a chance to grab the bad guys."

"Wait!" Thor caught hold of Iron Man's arm and held him against the strength of the repulsors. "If the winds and the lightning do not destroy you, our enemies may."

If that possibility was alarming Thor, it needed to be considered. Tony thought fast. "Not if I go in underwater for the last few miles," he said.

_Damn, where had that idea come from? Well, I did strengthen the armour and it needs testing._

"Be careful," Thor said. "I would not wish to explain your death to Steven."

"Believe me, Thor, I don't want you to have to do that either."

 

Iron Man rose to fifty thousand feet, well above the highest altitude reached by the hurricane winds, where the great swirl of cloud was reduced to what looked like nothing so much as a painting of a spiral galaxy on a blue background. And that background was beginning to darken. He could see the terminator, inching across the ocean. Soon all that would be missing were the stars themselves.

 _Better get this over with before the light goes completely._ 0

Taking a deep breath, he allowed himself to fall towards the wall of cloud around the eye, letting the armour be swept along by the force of the wind – no use fighting it – using the repulsors just to stay horizontal until he could see the waves reaching up for him.

Then he dived, through the great waves into the calm beneath. In that darkness, Tony allowed Jarvis's dead reckoning skills to steer the armour until the AI announced that, "We are beneath the eye, sir."

"I don't suppose you have any contact with your central servers?"

"No, sir. And I lost radio contact with Malibu and New York once we entered the hurricane."

"Great." That meant that the version of Jarvis downloaded into the suit was strictly limited until he could exchange information with his main servers. Tony peered into the darkness. "Anything on sonar?"

"No, sir."

That wasn't the reply Tony had expected. "No?"

"No, sir."

"If Thor was wrong I'm gonna confiscate his hammer."

"That should punish him thoroughly, sir."

As he neared the surface, Tony could see two kinds of light; the one that flickered was almost certainly the continuous lightning in the eyewall, but the other was white and steady and seemed to come from a single point.

"Jarvis, what's out there?"

"Three heat signatures; probably human."

"Probably?"

"Two of them are not consistent with the human norm."

"Like Steve?" Damn it, had someone actually duplicated the serum? If they had samples of Steve's blood...

"They do not read so much like Captain Rogers as like Prince Thor."

_Asgardians. Oh, wonderful._

Iron Man moved upwards, until his helmet and shoulders were above the water – or above the water intermittently, because the sea was choppy, despite the relative calm of the eye.

And Tony gawped. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it was not an ancient-looking ship floating about six feet above the surface of the sea. It was brightly painted in red and black, its high prow carved into some kind of bird – an eagle, maybe – with an even higher stern. Its single square sail, made of what looked like unbleached canvas or linen, stood out in a curve, as if in a high wind. A long banner, red without device, also streamed forward. But the ship didn't move. And there wasn't any wind.

None.

There was light, though, a blinding light coming from what appeared to be a large tent or pavilion, though how you pitched one of those on the deck of a ship, Tony didn't like to guess

Iron Man rose up alongside the ship until he was level with the deck.

And the eagle prow twisted towards him, as lithe as it the thing were alive. Its eyes were red jewel, and fire burned in their depth. Its wicked beak opened, revealing a black tongue as it shrieked.

Without hesitation, Iron Man blew it to splinters.

A tall woman with black hair in a waterfall of curls down her back burst from the pavilion, holding a small, egg-like object cupped in her hands. Its intense, icy light illuminated features inhuman in their symmetry, but was swallowed in the darkness of her eyes.

She was... incredibly... beautiful.

And, Tony was sure, equally dangerous. 

He'd underestimated Asgardians before, and he wasn't about to do it again.

He fired the repulsor blasts directly at her hands. The egg-shaped object flew high into the air where it hovered as the woman took a step, but only a single step, backwards.

Two men came barrelling out of the pavilion and passed her on either side. One was carrying a gun that was all too familiar from encounters in Wakanda, the other – and he was tall and powerful, taller and more powerful than Steve, perhaps even as tall as Thor – was pulling a long bright sword from its scabbard. 

_Shit_.

Ignoring all three people, Iron Man rose up above the deck and reached for the glowing stone.

The woman gave a scream of rage that resembled that of the figurehead, and flung out a hand, fingers spread. 

But Iron Man's repulsors flared, throwing him backwards and blasting the egg – crystal, stone, whatever – into the sea, even as he heard the distinctive whine of the firing gun.

The woman was shouting in a clear, high voice.

As he tumbled through the air, Iron Man caught a glimpse of the woman standing on the remains of the prow, arms raised, then the man with the sword snatching the gun from where it was lying on the deck, with the man who had been carrying it unconscious – or dead – beside it.

Which didn't make sense.

The man with the sword in his right hand was taking aim with the gun in his left when the ship and its occupants began to... fade.

For one instant, just before the ship vanished, the woman, her hands glowing with light, made a slight gesture towards him, and it seemed the light flew from her hand.

And the HUD went dead. So did all the control servos.

"Jarvis, take over!" Tony ordered, but Jarvis was gone.

The shock of the armour hitting the water rattled his teeth and made him bite his lip. Though he could feel and see nothing, he knew the armour must be sinking.

In his head, Tony began frantic calculations. If he was above the Hatteras Abyssal Plain – and he suspected he was – he was drifting down through about eighteen thousand feet of salt water. Given the approximate specific gravity of the suit and the increasing pressure of water he should be able to work out how long it would take him to reach bottom – if he ever did. Well, he wouldn't know about it, because the suit carried very little air and could not manufacture any oxygen with the power out. Compare that against how long it would take the shrapnel to reach his heart without the electro-magnets powered by the inactive ARC reactor and it still didn't matter because the water pressure (about four hundred and fifty psi for every thousand feet) was going to crack the joints before either... 

It was cold down there. Even colder than here, unless he was falling more quickly than he had calculated. 

Already he could hear the metal creaking.

As soon as there was a leak, however small, the water would flood in.

He was going to drown. And he knew that wasn't an easy way to die.

Because he knew that no one could hear him, not even the ever-present Jarvis, he screamed in rage and terror.

It didn't help.

_Did Steve feel like this? We found him, finally, but they'll never find me. Even if they could, I don't have the serum. No one will ever know what happened to me, but there's so much left to do, to find out, to build..._

_Rhodey's still missing, Pepper hates me, and Steve..._

_There are so many things I haven't said to Steve, and now I'm leaving him alone again—_

A couple of readings flickered up on the HUD – date and time and global position.

Hope flared. Because the electromagnets would have cut in even before the HUD.

Tony held his breath, stilling his harsh panting, but that only made the creaking of the straining armour more obvious. But was that the hiss of the servos?

"Jarvis?"

Still no reply.

More displays were appearing. All he needed now were the repulsors... and there they were, if at minimal power. Still, he could move upwards. And there might enough power to extract sufficient oxygen from the seawater to keep him alive – not to mention remove excess carbon dioxide before it killed him.

Or before the armour gave out.

Yesterday... yesterday, before he strengthened it, he would have been dead by now. He had promised Steve he would come back and he was going to do that. Dying was simply no longer a possibility.


	24. Undercurrents

For the first time Steve really understood the cliché about 'pacing like a caged tiger' because that was exactly how he felt. Tony's workshop, indeed the whole Malibu house, had become a prison. He wanted, needed, to be on the East Coast, and there were a dozen reasons why he could not be, including that Tony had specifically asked – ordered? – that he stay here.

"Still no contact?" he asked Jarvis for the twentieth time.

"Steve, if I had contact with either Mr Stark or my digital clone I would tell you at once." Jarvis sounded as worried and distracted as Steve himself.

"I know. I'm sorry." If Steve had ever doubted that Jarvis felt some kind of emotion – if not exactly human emotion – the last few hours would have dispelled it forever.

"Jarvis." It was Jan's voice. She was on the other side of the security barrier, wrapped in a huge white towelling bathrobe. "Let me in, please."

"Do it, Jarvis," Steve ordered.

"At once, Captain." And that was new, that Jarvis would defer to him about Tony's security.

The door slid open and Jan padded through. "No news?"

"Well, the hurricane has started moving away into the Atlantic."

Jan waved away the evasion, "But no word from Tony?

"Not since that last message where he said he was going looking for Thor."

Jan nodded. "But he and Thor have succeeded?"

"Yeah, I guess." Steve was trying to sound positive; one or both of them had succeeded but that didn't mean that either was still alive.

Jan put a hand on Steve's arm. "Steady, Steve. Tony is surprisingly difficult to kill. He went missing in Afghanistan for three months."

"Where he was seriously injured, acquired that damn device in his chest, was tortured, saw the man who saved his life killed..."

"I didn't know that last," Jan said gently. "But this time he was with Thor. Short of being there yourself, that's the best protection he could have." She paused, her eyes resting on Steve's face. 

Steve took a deep breath. "He's... Jan, I know all the arguments. Thor's a god—" then, at her surprised look, "yes, I know that's kind of blasphemy, but I was in Asgard, an' some of the things I saw... Anyway, if Tony's under his protection he should be safe. But Thor's wrangling a goddamn hurricane. And I'm stuck here, unable to help either of them."

"Well, let's send someone else. New York's no longer in danger, right? Can either the Widow or Hawkeye fly a plane?"

"I've seen them both fly SHIELD jets."

"What they need is a helicopter," Jan decided. "If possible an amphibious one and even better if it's been used for air-sea rescue. There's a guy in Norfolk hires out retired Sikorsky Pelicans for marine research and oceanography. If necessary we can get a pilot for them too. You can leave getting both of them to me, Cap. But you'd better talk to Barton and Romanoff."

 

Maybe a third of the HUD was back now, though there was still no contact with Jarvis. Tony thought that the AI must have been wiped from the armour's memory, though he had built in enough safeguards that it would have taken something very powerful to delete him.

Like magic.

He shuddered, unable even to clench his fists against the riptide of fear.

Outside, an occasional light danced randomly in the darkness. But Tony knew that all that meant was that he was still at some depth, where animals brought their own illumination. Iron Man would have been right at home, if the ARC reactor had been functional enough to emit more than the faintest of glows. The armour was still ascending, though by no means easily and the HUD compass told Tony he was being swept out into the Atlantic.

He hoped the storm was going that way, but much faster than he was. He certainly did not want to surface in the midst of it, but if it came to a choice between surfacing in rough seas and his oxygen running out – or, more likely, the carbon dioxide choking him – then he would have to risk the wind and waves.

Not that it would, because the choice wasn't going to be his.

 

"So all we can do now is wait," Steve said, as Clint's face collapsed into an instant of static, then disappeared.

"You can still go east," Jan said. "You probably won't be there in time to help, but I suspect – no, I know - Tony will be... delighted... if you're there when he comes ashore. Call Potts. She'll make sure you have a flight back to New York."

"Tony asked me to stay here," Steve said. "To guard... Betty." He didn't think Jan would take kindly to Tony's implication that she herself needed looking after.

Jan snorted. "I've been with Betty in enough tough spots over the past few days to know that's not necessary. But I think all three of us might be safer in New York. With the other Avengers."

Steve's mouth twisted. "Humour me, why don't you?"

"Are you suggesting we're safe here? I'm sure that, if the guys who tried to kidnap Betty were her father's men, he knows where she is. But he doesn't really worry me. The other guys, though – can Tony's defences here really hold against them, if they choose to come in all guns blazing with something like that helicopter-submarine with the ray guns?"

Steve shook his head. "They're after Tony. Who isn't here."

"They may not know that. Even so, I'd rather not take a commercial flight to New York or Washington and put other people in danger, particularly when we have Betty with us, and I'm certainly not going to leave either her or you on your own—"

"Captain," Jarvis interrupted. "I have an unidentified aircraft on radar heading towards us at zero feet, bearing zero four nine, range two thousand yards, speed one hundred miles per hour."

"Shields at full strength, Jarvis." Steve snatched up his own shield and ran for the door. As he moved, he felt something land on his shoulder – Wasp, presumably – but ignored it, hoping that she could manage to cling to his T-shirt.

 

Through the grey pre-dawn twilight Steve could see the navigation lights of a strangely-shaped aircraft that reminded him nothing so much as a miniature version of the _Albatross_ in the Jules Verne novel _Robur the Conqueror_.

_How many years has it been since I read that? And what the hell does that pilot think he's doing?_

It was heading straight for the faint glow of the shields that haloed the walls and arched above their heads.

Jarvis broke in urgently: "Captain, that aircraft is exactly like the one Colonel Danvers was flying when she flagged down Iron Man."

But was it Danvers? Even if it was, could they trust her? She was an Air Force officer—

"I need your authorisation if I am going to shut down the shields."

_Why the hell isn't she veering off?_

He really had no choice. "You have it," Steve said, even as he draw back his own shield and took aim, hoping he could down the aircraft if it kept heading for the house.

Even as he spoke, the aircraft started to veer off, but one of its rotors clipped the electronic shields.

There was a blinding flash of light and the aircraft began spinning, its undercarriage skids scraping over the top of the wall, sparks cascading down and scorching the already parched grass.

Steve changed his grip, bringing up the shield to protect himself and Jan, who was still perched on his shoulder.

The aircraft – and it was certainly one of the oddest aircraft that Steve had ever seen – rolled on its side, the rotors ploughing up the ground before they came free and spun away. One struck the wall and broke apart, metal shards flying in all directions, ricocheting off Steve's shield. That probably made a hell of a noise but even crouched behind it he could not distinguish the ringing tones of vibranium steel from the deafening clamour of the crash.

At least they were far enough from the house for it – and Betty – to be safe.

The aircraft, flayed of its rotors, lay on its side, fire glowing under the topmost engine. The air stank of fuel. The pilot, a dark silhouette against the red glow, was apparently struggling to open the cockpit door. 

Even as he leaped forward, reaching for the handle, braced for the pain of his bare hand on metal hot enough for expansion to jam the catch, Jan left his shoulder. There was brightness in the air, a crackle of power, and the catch and lock were blown away. Steve levered the door open with the edge of his shield and grabbed the pilot by the shoulders, heaving her – if it was Danvers – out and away.

He was still running when the engine exploded.

They were flung to the ground, Steve protecting the pilot with his body, and their heads with his shield. The Wasp was clinging to its straps as the shock wave rolled over them. Steve hoped it wasn't going to break any of the windows in the house, because it had been his decision to let the aircraft through and he had a feeling that any one of those windows cost more than everything he had ever owned. Tony would be furious...

_Please let him be alive to be furious with me..._

The woman – and it was a woman – pinned under him had begun struggling. He jumped to his feet and bent down to help her up, only for her to grab his wrists, thrust her feet against his thighs and throw him over her head. 

He somersaulted in the air and landed neatly, facing the pilot, who was now back on her feet, her flying helmet in her hand. She hurled it towards him, but it sailed past several feet to his right.

_She's not aiming at me—_

There was another flash in the air, and the helmet jerked from its path. Steve reached out a casual hand to catch it, though right then his attention was all on the flutter of iridescent wings as the Wasp went tumbling towards the ground.

"Hold it right there, buster."

In that moment, Steve realised his mistake in letting himself be distracted, because the pilot was now on her feet with a dangerous-looking automatic pistol in her hand.

Damn. He knew he could get the shield up before she pulled the trigger, but then there was Jan lying on the ground a few feet away; full sized, wingless, wearing nothing more than a bra and pyjama pants, and completely helpless.

Now she was lifting her head, and no one could mistake the metal that encased her arms for anything but weaponry...

" _You_ move, lady, and I shoot." The voice was Betty's. She was standing in the shadow of the palm trees, braced, with a Stark Special rock steady in both hands, pointed straight at the pilot. "Drop the gun."

 _Betty's an army brat,_ Steve reminded himself even as Jan, finally seeing the threat, vanished into insect size. He could have taken the pilot's gun away then, but he had a feeling that words would be more effective in this case. And Betty held control of the situation.

"Easy, easy. Betty, hold your fire," he said, dropping the helmet he was still holding and raising both hands, palms towards the pilot. "Jarvis, is this Colonel Danvers?"

Jarvis's voice spoke over the crackle of the flames. "Indeed, Captain. This is the Air Force officer who introduced herself to Mr Stark as Colonel Carol Danvers."

Danvers was still looking around wildly, then her shoulders hunched as she glared at Steve. "You want my serial number too? Yeah, I'm Danvers. Who was that? Who the fuck are you? And where's Stark?"

Steve saw no reason to hide his identity in the current circumstances. "I'm Captain Rogers," he said. "Iron Man's working partner. The voice belongs to Jarvis, Stark's... butler."

"So you say. I repeat: where's Stark?"

"On a rescue mission on the other side of the continent," Steve replied, as Jan landed on his shoulder and grew until she was about six inches in height. He grinned at her. "And this is the Wasp, another member of the Avengers. Now, can we all put the guns away and you explain why you tried to land that monstrosity in Stark's grounds without filing a flight plan? She didn't file a flight plan, did she, Jarvis?"

"No, Captain."

"Tony designed that 'monstrosity'," Jan put in. "Though he was little more than a kid at the time."

 _Maybe he'd read Verne too._ Steve thought wildly, wondering how he could regain control of the conversation. "Well, it came off worse against his defences," he said. "As you will, Colonel, if you take on any of us. We aren't your enemies; we're just Tony Stark's friends."

Danvers rolled her eyes, but thrust her gun back into the holster on her belt. 

"Thank you," Steve said dryly. "You too, Betty. Before the police arrest you both for being in breach of California's carry laws."

Jan snorted. "This is Tony Stark's house. The whole thing is probably in breach of California's gun laws."

"Gives a whole new meaning to the 'Wild West'," Danvers said dryly.

"You're carrying too," Steve pointed out. "So, Colonel, care to explain what you're doing here?" 

"I got tired of waiting for Stark to contact me about Jim," Danvers said, with a shrug.

"Jim?" Betty asked.

"Colonel James Rhodes," Steve amplified. "I know Tony said he'd tell you when and if we located him, but there's no trace—"

"Don't give me that!" Danvers spat. "War Machine was spotted over the coast only twenty miles from here four days ago."

"War Machine, yes. But it wasn't Rhodes. It was a guy called Brennan. Major Jim G. Brennan."

"Jaygee? What the fuck was he doing with it?"

"Trying to kill Tony Stark," Steve said. "Unfortunately, he can't tell us why."

Danvers' eyes went wide. "He's dead?"

Steve ignored the question. "You knew him," he stated, his suspicions beginning to rise.

"Slightly. Air Force to the core. Actually, the Air Force right or wrong. A good pilot, mind you, though not in Jim's class. Or mine. This complicates things."

"Your arrival complicates things," Jan said sharply. "And you didn't crash our party on the off chance that Tony knew something about James Rhodes."

Danvers hesitated and not, Steve suspected, because she was trying to cope with Jan's awful pun. "I needed to see Stark in a hurry," she said at last. "I didn't have his personal phone number and, while I bulled my way through to Potts, she wouldn't give me it. I knew Stark would recognise the transport – so I sure as hell didn't expect to be brought down."

"We've been under attack," Steve said defensively. "Jarvis identified you a little too late. Tony will see you right about your... aircraft. If your errand was that urgent, maybe we can help."

Danvers was still hesitating. "John Storm," she said, at last, as if testing them. "Stark asked me to look him up and ask him a question."

"About who would want to steal his dead sister's DNA sample," Steve said.

"So you know about that."

Betty smiled. "We all know about that."

Steve gave her a quelling look, even as Danvers' eyes snapped towards her. "Who the hell are you, anyway, Annie Oakley?" the pilot demanded.

"The scientist who discovered Susan Storm's DNA sample was missing," Jan said.

"Lieutenant Storm have any suggestions?" Steve asked, snatching back control of the conversation and wishing very hard that Tony was here.

For all sorts of reasons.

"Damned if I know. Because he wasn't at NASA. He was taken off the astronaut program and reassigned nearly a week ago. And here's the odd thing, Captain: the guy had the best scores of any astronaut trainee since Armstrong. He was all lined up to fly co-pilot on the new orbiter—"

"There's a new orbiter?" Jan asked, her voice sharp. "NASA's been keeping that quiet. Steve?"

"How would I know about it?" Steve was puzzled.

"If Tony had known the thing existed he would certainly have briefed you, even if he didn't brief me and Hank. The last space shuttle was retired in 2011. Since then we've been relying on the Russians to get people into orbit. There's supposed to be a replacement in development but it won't be delivered for years yet."

"Not only that," Danvers said, "but I know for a fact that less than a year ago that was the case. There's been scuttlebutt about this new spacecraft, but I thought it was a load of bullshit. Until last night."

"If there wasn't a government program," Jan said, "and I don't see how there could have been because those things cost a bundle – more than you can hide under today's level of research appropriations – then it must have been bought from an outside supplier. And the ones we know about are years behind NASA itself."

"If Stark had been developing it for the government, would he have told you?" Danvers asked.

Jan gave one of her characteristic snorts. "Honey, he wouldn't have been able to stop talking about it."

Steve wasn't so sure. Tony was good at hiding his secrets behind a wall of verbiage. And _"You'll love it, Steve."_ he'd said.

Is that what Tony had been talking about?

"Jarvis?" Steve said sharply. "Is—"

"There are no spacecraft, military or commercial, in development at any Stark company," Jarvis answered. 

"So not one of ours. And someone wanted John Storm off the project. Did he annoy some influential staff officer or other?" Steve asked.

"Not according to his commanding officer. Who is spitting mad about it, though not as mad as Lieutenant Storm, apparently. He’s spent every moment since protesting his orders, with his CO backing him up – he's the one I've gotten all this from. Only about forty-eight hours ago Federal agents arrived and frog-marched Storm onto a plane."

"What agency?" Betty asked.

"They said AFOSI."

"Which is?" Steve asked.

"The Air Force Office of Special Intelligence," Jarvis's voice said. "Colonel Danvers may know a lot more than we do about that."

"They were not AFOSI," Danvers said tightly.

 _Are you?_ But Steve wasn't going to ask that question aloud. Not yet, at any rate.

"So Storm was abducted by persons unknown," Jan said. "And now he's vanished, right?"

"Nope. Storm managed to text his CO from McConnell. That's in Kansas," Danvers added helpfully.

"Yes, I know," Steve said, relieved that there was something about the Air Force that he did know.

"That was a couple of hours ago. One of the things Storm texted was the reference of the flight he'd been loaded onto. He thought it was heading for Vandenberg, which would make a lot of sense."

"Jarvis!" Steve said sharply.

"Tracking all flights out of McConnell," Jarvis stated. "Do you have an approximate time of take off, Colonel?"

"Two and a half hours ago."

"So," Steve said to Danvers, as he started back towards the house, signalling to the women to follow him. "What did you expect from Iron Man, Colonel?"

"Would depend on how much he wanted to interview Storm. He could have gotten to Vandenberg before the plane landed, or even intercepted it."

"Sure he could," Jan said. "If he was here. And if he wanted to tangle with the Air Force—"

"I think I could have gotten him in," Danvers said. "But, to be honest, I just meant to tip him off. And I expected to find Jim here."

As they entered the house, Jarvis said, "The aircraft carrying Lieutenant Storm is due to land at Travis Air Force Base in seventeen minutes."

"That's odd." Danvers appeared genuinely startled.

"Why?"

"Vandenberg is Space Wing. Just where you'd expect them to send someone with Storm's training. Travis is mainly transport."

"Intercontinental," Betty said. "Do you suppose—?"

"They're taking him out of the country," Steve said, in sudden certainty. 

"That's _crazy_ ," Danvers retorted, then added, "Why?" So she figured he was right.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Don't see how this can be related to his sister's missing DNA. But the timing is suspicious. If Thor and Tony hadn't turned that hurricane, the East Coast would be in chaos right now. Don't suppose anyone would bother 'bout Storm for a while."

 _And I wonder if Tony was right or wrong about the 'Stormbringer' reference,_ he added, to himself. Which 'storm'? Both 'storms'? And how does this tie in with the War Machine's attack?

Jan and Betty were both quiet. He suspected that they might well be thinking the same things.

"What the hell is happening?" Danvers demanded, not so much of Steve as the world at large. 

"If I knew that, what we do next would be a lot simpler," Steve admitted.

 _What would Tony want me to do?_ he asked himself. _I still can't get to the East Coast quickly enough to help him. And this is a lead. Of some kind. To something. And it looks like this kid Storm is in trouble._

"I need get to Travis," he said.

"They may ship Storm out as soon as he lands," Betty said. "Probably will."

"In that case I may be able to figure where he's been taken. Jan?"

"I can hire a plane," Jan said. "Though not landing rights at Travis."

Steve looked at Danvers, but Jarvis spoke before he did. "That will not be necessary, Ms Van Dyne. Mr Stark's personal jet will land at LAX in thirteen minutes."

"What's that doing here?" Steve demanded, remembering Tony's words.

_"We haven't got any other transport – at least, none that wouldn't mean one hell of a delay getting it to you."_

"Mr Stark ordered it prepped and sent here as soon as he turned east."

"Will they let us take it without Tony?" Jan demanded.

"Captain Rogers has overriding access to all Stark Industries assets," Jarvis replied.

"What?" Steve was astonished.

"Mr Stark issued that order just before your trip to Africa. He did not rescind it."

"Great!" Jan exclaimed. "Jarvis, get us a pilot. I mean, I can fly the thing at a pinch, but I'd rather leave it to a pro."

"You have a pro," Danvers said. "You have a licence, Van Dyne, you can ride co-pilot."

"Have you thought this through?" Steve asked her. "Rhodes—"

"Right now I'm more worried about Lieutenant Storm. And about what the fuck is happening in the Air Force. 'Sides, you need me for that flight plan and permission to land. How do we get to LAX?"

"I'll drive," Jan said gleefully. "Steve, where does Tony keep his car keys?"

 

Whoever had spoken of the silence of the deep had never been there, Tony decided. Though he was plainly too deep for daylight – and unless the HUD clock had gone haywire as well it was full daylight above – the darkness was full of noises, louder than the pounding of blood in his ears, the wheezing of oxygen-low air into his lungs.

 _Do fish speak to each other?_ he wondered hazily. _Whales do, after all._

The clicks and moans were vaguely unsettling, as was the faint, rhythmic groaning.

But he was still alive, and still breathing, though far too fast, almost as fast as his heartbeat.

It would have to be enough.

 

Everything had gone with such astonishing smoothness, from the traffic jam-less drive to LAX with Jan at the wheel, being waved through various security checks, his SI pass opening the way to the refuelled Gulfstream G650 waiting for them (thanks to Jarvis's good offices) to the easy way Danvers had obtained all the clearances they needed, filed a flight plan, and obtained permission to land at Travis, apparently without a single bureaucratic delay, that Steve had been waiting for something to go wrong.

Inevitably, it did.

It started with a message from Travis tower. As they were making their descent, with the bridges of San Francisco Bay far below, they were asked divert to Sacramento, SMF.

Danvers snorted her disgust, and demanded reasons.

"We have an emergency situation here, Colonel," was all the Tower would say.

Danvers exchanged glances with Steve. "This situation wouldn't involve a certain Lieutenant Storm, would it? Over."

The silence was telling.

"John Storm," Danvers prompted. "Blond guy. Got his wings. Astronaut training. Came in on a transport two hours ago? Over."

The silence from the tower was becoming distinctly uncomfortable.

Then a new voice said, "This is Colonel MacTavish: Commander, Travis AFB."

"Jeb, this is Carol Danvers."

"Carol? Thought you were..." There was a noticeable pause. "...back east."

"I was. But I have an emergency which one will get you twenty is tied in to your current problem. I had to borrow this civilian jet to get to you, so clear me for a goddam runway right now. If Storm is still on base, grab him and hold him, together with whoever came with him and lock the whole bunch away until I can sort it out."

"That might be a little tricky, Colonel, seeing as Storm has arranged his own standoff."

"What?"

"He kidnapped some VIP chick and they're holed up in one of my hangars." 

"Jeb—"

"With a whole bunch of your damn arrogant thugs telling me to butt out. You get down here, Danvers and sort this damn thing out."

"Not my people, Jeb."

"The hell you say! Bellini's withdrawn his agents and I've got the whole shebang locked down on their orders. What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing until I get there. Assign me a runway, MacTavish, and the sorting out's gonna be a real pleasure."

 

There was another sound now, faintly familiar, on the edge of his consciousness, a fluttering, like none of the noises that had echoed through the helmet in the past... how many hours?

Tony forced his eyes open. Nothing about the HUD had changed, but beyond that, outside in the ocean, there was a flickering light. _Daylight?_ he thought muzzily. _Waves?_.

But there was a shadow moving on the light, a bulbous shape, and was that a tail?

He took a deep breath, and coughed on the foul air. It seemed to have invaded his mind, swirling around incoherent thoughts.

_Whale?_

_Great White Shark_

_Would either break their teeth on the armour?_

_Though no teeth if it is a whale, just baleen plates. Unless it's an Orca or a Sperm Whale... How could I have forgotten that?_

Then a darker shadow passed swiftly between him and whatever-it-was, and that leading dumbbell shape...

_Shark. Hammerhead..._

It was gone.

"Jay... shark... dangerous?"

But Jarvis wasn't there anymore.

Tony let his eyes close and concentrated on breathing...but it was so hard...

He thought he heard something clanging against the armour, felt it move...

But he could do nothing to defend himself now.

 _It will hold or it won't..._ was his last thought as consciousness slipped away.

 

Danvers strode across the tarmac, heat haze rising about her like the foam around Aphrodite, as if she owned the world. Steve, at her heels, his face carefully expressionless, could only admire her _sang froid._ He was trying, very, very hard, to keep his mind on task and ignore the implications of Natasha's last report, received just before he, Danvers, and Jan, in her Wasp form, disembarked from the plane. She and Clint had made contact with Thor, but the Thunder God had not heard from Iron Man since the latter headed into the hurricane.

Tony had found who or whatever was controlling the storm and stopped them or it; they were all sure of that, but no one claimed to know what had happened to him afterwards.

_Concentrate on cases._

Lieutenant Storm and his prisoner – if she was a prisoner, because they only had some very untrustworthy testimony for that – had made their escape while changing planes. According to the only eyewitness, the guy who had been in charge of securing the boarding ramps to the hatch, the woman had tripped at the top as they disembarked and had, by some enormous mischance, crashed into both of Storm's escorts. Storm had seized their guns, grabbed the woman by the arm, and scooted underneath the plane and into the nearest hangar.

Interestingly, none of the other 'agents' escorting them had attempted to shoot Storm. They had, however, ordered the hangar cleared of personnel, and Base Commander MacTavish had had the tarmac cleared and the runways shut down.

The stand-off was occurring inside the hangar, conveniently out of sight of everyone on the base.

He had observed as much to Danvers, who had nodded. "Yeah. Plainly, they don't trust the USAFSF. Pity. It would be nice to have sniper cover."

There was only one sniper Steve would have trusted to back him up right now, and he was long dead.

But they could be shot just as easily with a handgun by one of the two men in dark suits who were hurrying towards them, waving at them in an attempt to warn them off.

Danvers ploughed onwards, Steve two steps behind her.

"I'm Colonel Danvers, AFOSI," she said, as soon as they were close enough so that she did not have to raise her voice. "I'm here to interview Lieutenant Storm."

"Not possible, Colonel." The man who answered was tall and wide-shouldered, but he wore his too-expensive black suit and designer sunglasses so unhappily that Steve knew he would be happier in any other clothes. Possibly jeans and a tee? Or maybe uniform? Battledress?

Which one might make all the difference to their chances.

"It had better be possible. I'm now in charge of the situation here," Danvers informed him, flashing her identification.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," Suit-and-sunglasses said, sounding not in the least sorry. "I'm also a Federal agent and I am in charge here. You'd better just stand back and let us get on with our jobs."

"Lieutenant Storm is an Air Force officer," Danvers stated, not breaking stride.

Suit-and-sunglasses looked as if he was going to step in her path, glanced at Steve and decided against it. Instead he had to jog to keep up. "Yes, but it's not rele—"

"And you people have just admitted that you're not OSI."

"I told you, we're Federal Agents—"

" _If_ that is true," Danvers said, "and I haven't seen any identification, mister, you are on an Air Force base, attempting to detain an Air Force officer and defying the orders of the Air Force base commander, Colonel MacTavish, and a special agent of the Secretary of the Air Force from whom he has requested assistance. Me."

"Then you can take it up with the Joint Chiefs, lady."

"I'll worry about them tomorrow. Right now I want you off our turf. Then _you_ can take it up with the Secretary of the Air Force."

By now they were passing through one of the human-sized doors into the hangar, as the main doors remained tightly closed, trapping whatever aircraft were housed there inside.

It led into what was plainly a workshop area, though the four men lurking there were equally plainly not mechanics. Two of them looked round in surprise, but the other two, who were watching the main hall of the hangar from behind some heavyweight machinery (and if Tony had been here he would have been able to advise them what it was and how bulletproof it was – and, damn it, not having him here to do it worse than not carrying his shield) did not move. Their guns – sub-machine guns, Steve guessed, though in some ways they looked more like carbines – remained pointed towards one of the two giant transport aircraft parked there.

Colonel MacTavish was not going to be pleased if the pair loosed their weapons at those.

But he didn't think they were going to. Looked like they were still treating Storm with kid gloves.

"I take it Storm's in the left hand C-5," Danvers said, having come to the same conclusion as Steve. "We'll take it from here." She raised her voice. "I'm Colonel Danvers, acting with the authority of the Secretary of the Air Force and the base commander. All of you will stand down. Put away those weapons and report to the base commander with an explanation of your conduct. Now.” 

Naturally, no one moved.

Danvers nodded. "So, let's make it clear, you're defying a legitimate order from an authorised Air Force officer on an Air Force base."

"Just what are you going to do about it, Colonel? Arrest us? Just two of you."

"Two would be enough," Steve said, even as he felt the Wasp lift away from his shoulder.

Suit-and-Sunglasses looked at Steve properly for the first time, and his jaw dropped. Then he went for his shoulder holster.

A bright percussive energy bolt, tiny but powerful, struck him on the jaw, sending him staggering backwards. Steve left him to Danvers' not-so-tender mercies. It was with fierce joy at being able to hit something that he bounded across to the two men covering the parked aircraft, who had absolutely no warning as he disarmed and disabled them in four swift manoeuvres.

Behind him, he could hear more blasts from Wasp's stingers and grunts of pain that sounded distinctly masculine, so he was not surprised that, when he turned back, it was to see that only one man was still on his feet and he was scrabbling to retrieve a pistol from the floor. He had it in his hand a moment after Steve began moving, but that was not quickly enough. A stinger blast sent him staggering backwards, and then Steve was on him.

By then Danvers was pulling a bunch of cable ties from her pocket. As Steve helped her secure their prisoners – not that they would be waking up any time soon – Jan's voice said, through Steve's earbud, "I'm going in to assess Storm's situation."

"Wait—" Steve began in an urgent whisper, but she was gone in a flash of wings.

"Should we go after her?" Danvers asked.

"She's the best person to handle it," Steve said, with an assurance he did not entirely feel. "So long as you're right about Storm."

 

A few moments later, Jan's voice came softly over the comms (And bless Tony for having spares on hand even in the Malibu house, and Jarvis for reminding him that Danvers and Betty needed the.).

"I'm in," she said. "And I'll tell you one thing, fellas: Storm didn't kidnap the VIP. She's just a kid but she's free and carrying a handgun and one of those weapons we saw back in Wakanda. Storm's got the same. Probably don't realise the funny-guns are keyed to one person and pretty much useless."

"Unless Storm and the lady are agents of the mercenary group we fought in Wakanda," Steve pointed out. "Be careful, Wasp.”

"I'm always careful, Steve-o."

Off-air, Danvers asked, "How reliable is the Wasp, Captain?"

"She's an Avenger," Steve said, annoyed that Danvers might doubt that after the events at Malibu and the last five minutes.

Danvers' eyebrows shot up, even as Jan said, "Here goes nothing."

It was followed by a shout of surprise over the comms, loud enough to be echoed from the cavernous depths of the hangar.

"Don't move or I shoot!" That light male voice had to be John Storm.

"If I'd wanted to take you out, Lieutenant," Jan's voice said, "I could have done so without you even knowing I was here. These aren't for show – but I'm not pointing them at you, right?"

"I have no idea what those are – or who the hell you are." 

"They're Stark-designed weapons. I'm the Wasp. I'm an Avenger."

"Sure you are," Storm said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Way I heard it, the Avengers disbanded. Vanished. Except for Stark and that fake Captain America."

"Captain Rogers is listening to this conversation," Jan warned him with a touch of amusement. "He's with Colonel Danvers, from AFOSI. The guys who abducted you are under arrest, or will be when they wake up."

"Why should we believe you?" This was another voice: a woman's, with an odd accent that was, on the surface, English university with a slight French intonation, yet underlying that something both strange and familiar.

"Well, I could start by telling you that the weapon you're pointing at me is useless. They're keyed to a single person. Go on, fire it at me."

"Has she gone crazy?" Danvers hissed at Steve.

"She's taking a chance," Steve answered, "but the odds are good, even if they decide to take her up on it. Unless the Lieutenant and the girl are bad guys."

"Told you," Jan's voice said and now there really was laughter in it. "If I wanted to harm you you'd both be dead or unconscious by now, but we're on your side. Whoever they are, the guys who abducted you aren't Air Force – aren't US military of any kind."

"None of which explains why you're here – why the Avengers are involved," but Storm sounded far less aggressive. "If they are."

"Well, we weren't, not exactly. Colonel Danvers asked a favour of Tony Stark. There's a question we wanted to ask you about your sister, so he asked her to trace you and ask it. She went to your last C.O., who's a friend of hers. He told her you'd been shanghaied. She came to us looking for help and, between us, we managed to trace you here. Colonel Danvers and Captain Rogers are going to come into the open so you can see them. Please don't shoot at them. It'll only cause more trouble."

"Our cue," Danvers said. "You want to drag out one of the prisoners for them to take a look?"

"If necessary," Steve said. "But it may not be."

 

Both of them, however, felt vulnerable as they stood before the noses of what Danvers had told him were C5 Galaxies – which now looked even larger close up.

John Storm's voice called from the aircraft. "Colonel, what's Porky's favourite swear word?"

Danvers grinned. "I'll tell him you used that nickname. It's 'Goshdarn!'" she called back. "But only under extreme duress and he always apologises if there are women present."

Even before she had finished speaking, Storm was descending from the aircraft, Jan following him with the other woman right behind her, her handgun still pointed at Jan's head

The first thing that struck Steve was how young Storm looked, though he was older by a couple of years than Steve himself had been when he joined the army. The woman at his side was even younger, probably no more than eighteen – just a girl, really – but she moved with the instinctive balance of a dancer or a fighter: not a soldier but a warrior. 

He was instantly reminded, from that and the planes of her features, the darkness of her skin and her tightly-bound hair, of Okoye.

Impossible. 

He dismissed the thought, smiled, and said, "Let's get you both out of here."

 

"Stark!"

 _Go away,_ Tony thought. _Let me sleep._

"Tony, wake up. Fuck you, _breathe._ "

It was a vaguely familiar voice. Female. Not Pepper, though. And there was another familiar noise behind it: the clatter of helicopter rotors, the roar of its engines.

"Do you wish me to remove the rest of the armour?" another voice asked.

Thor.

Panicked, Tony opened his eyes.

The faceplate was gone, probably torn off by Thor, who was looming behind Natasha. She sat back on her heels, looking relieved, while Thor's face broke into a huge grin.

"Hey!" Clint's voice called. "Is he alive or what?"

 _No, I'm a zombie, come back to eat your brain._ Tony thought. But it wasn't worth the effort speech would cost. Something else was. "Steve," Tony said, or rather, whispered, because it seemed his voice wasn't working properly. "Tell him... before he... does something stupid."

"Steve's fine," Natasha said. "Still in California."

"Tell him," Tony said, letting his eyelids fall.

"Tony. Tony, release the locks on your armour, huh, so we can get you out of it without damaging it more than it is already.""

 _Point!_ Tony thought. _She has a point. It will be... unrepairable... post Thor._

"Jarvis," Tony began, before he remembered. "Lost Jarvis." He thought it through very carefully. "Mechanical. Emergency release. Steve knows..."

"We're not in touch with Steve right this minute," Natasha told him. "Trust us this time, Tony. We need you out of there."

"Under... right shoulder plate... two holes... fingers... rotate twice right, once left, three right..."

"My right or your right. Stark? Is that your right or my right?"

It was much harder than it should have been to think of the correct answer.

"My right plate... twice counter-clock, once clock..."

"Three counter-clock. Got it."

"Changing it afterwards, Rushman," Tony told her, with the last of his breath. Then the world went away again.

 

To Steve's relief, neither Storm nor Danvers had any objection to getting out of Dodge.

"I've pushed my authority beyond its limits," the Colonel said, "and I think MacTavish knows it. He won't want the responsibility of having Storm and the girl around – won't want to know anything about them. He'll let me carry that can. The prisoners are a different matter. He'll hold them as long as he can, officially at my request, unless you want to take some or all of them with us for interrogation?"

Steve thought about the Widow's interrogation technique, and grinned to himself. "Which one is the leader?" he asked Storm, who had been listening intently to Danvers, with an occasional nod of approval.

But it was the girl who strode over to where Suit-and-Sunglasses lay bound and unconscious. For a moment Steve thought she was going to shoot him and so, apparently, did Storm, who said, "Hey, Princess, he's valuable—"

He broke off, wincing, as the girl kicked the helpless man hard in the balls. "This one," she said. "Though that would have been more fun if he had been conscious."

"Then we'll unofficially kidnap him," Steve said. "What Colonel MacTavish doesn't know won't hurt him. Let's get him onto the plane."

 

Steve and Storm were stowing the prisoner in the rear of the Gulfstream with Betty tut-tuting over his condition, when Jan arrived from the cockpit. "We've just heard from the base commander," she said to Storm. "Apparently the plane you were supposed to transfer to has just taken off without clearance. It's heading out over the Pacific. MacTavish has called in a squadron of fighters to pursue it. The one you arrived in is still there, but the crew has vanished. Want to bet they weren't on the other plane?"

"Nope."

 _So much for our chances of keeping this quiet, at least temporarily,_ was Steve's thought.

"Oh, and Steve, Carol wants to know if we're headed back to LA."

Steve blinked at the 'Carol' but didn't hesitate. "No. If no one has any relevant objections and we have enough fuel, we'll head to New York."

"Not Washington?" Danvers called back from the cockpit.

"I'll feel a lot safer in Stark Tower."

_Where the Widow can interrogate the prisoner. And Tony should be back then, please God._

"Betty and I would like to avoid Washington, thank you very much," Jan added.

"So would I, for the moment," Storm agreed. "Right now I don't have much trust in the Pentagon left."

"The right direction," was his companion's considered opinion. "If not far enough."

"You need any help up there, Colonel?" Storm asked hopefully.

"I'm flying the plane," Danvers called back. "Jan is acting as co-pilot, unless you're checked out on civilian jets."

"I've flown the Air Force's Gulfstreams."

"Not this one if you don’t have a civilian licence. Strap in, please, I'm about to take off."

Steve supposed that a first name wasn't giving away the Wasp's identity. He hoped.

"So the Wasp is Jan, and I presume you are 'Betty'," the girl was saying, as she took the seat next to her.

"Yes. Though Betty's a nickname. I'm Dr Elizabeth Ross," Betty said, offering her hand.

"Doctor Ross? The cellular biologist? I've heard of your work."

"Really?" Betty asked, in plain surprise. "I'm only halfway famous in my field."

"I am – or should be – working on my PhD in biochemistry at the Sorbonne."

"You sound more English than French."

"I took my first degree at Oxford. It's a family tradition," the girl added, "and my family is very traditional."

"May I know your name?" Betty asked.

"It's Shuri."

Steve had heard that name before. But where?

"Just Shuri?" Betty was asking.

"Unless you want to be formal, and then it's Princess Shuri."

That jogged Steve's memory, the voice of a man now dead: "Shuri is in France and oblivious to what is happening."

_Dear God._

"She's a secret princess," Storm was saying. "Or so she says. I wouldn't want to argue with her."

If she was anything like her relatives, and he would have bet his shield she was, Steve was inclined to agree. He also confirmed some suspicions. He inclined his head towards Shuri in respect. "Thank you for engineering Lieutenant Storm's escape."

"Hey!" Storm yelped.

"We rescued each other," Shuri said seriously. Steve was sure that, despite her youth, no one but Natasha could match her poise. "But my brother will, I am sure, reward you for allowing us to complete it."

"I don't think he'll need to do so," Steve said. "We're already so deep in each other's debt—"

"Hang on!" Danvers voice screamed into the intercom.

Ignoring the order, Steve freed his seat belt and plunged through the cockpit hatch, even as the plane tilted forwards and sideways, wings almost brushing the tops of the hangars, just in time to see the sky open like an eye, a dazzlingly bright blue-white eye, a terribly familiar portal leading God only knew where.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend the Gulfstream G650 came into service a couple of years earlier than 2012, okay? At least until I get round to a full edit after the story is completed.


	25. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a different agenda and everything is in danger of spiralling out of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the change in the rating to 'explicit.' Sorry folks. It isn't, I hope, too-much-detail explicit, but that scene is necessary for both characterisation and plot. If you need to miss this stuff, it's the two scenes before the last scene.

"What the fuck is that?" Danvers howled, even as she sent the SI jet screaming low across the expanse of the Travis airbase with the tower screaming for her to abort.

"Transportation portal," Steve explained, steadying himself by gripping the back of her seat, though he guessed the question had been rhetorical.

"Now he tells me! I thought you'd defeated those damn aliens back in New York."

"We did. Not the same type of portal. This one needs some sort of doodad at both ends."

"Didn't see anything projecting it: just that light show." They were beyond the airbase now and gaining height.

"Nothing on radar," Jan added.

"I wouldn't say that." The voice was John Storm's. He had followed Steve into the cockpit and was now hanging over the radar screen. "Got this weird ping. Tiny but strong – and movin' like a bat out of hell. It's coming up our tail, boss."

"Gotcha." The aircraft shuddered as Danvers applied air braking.

"You'll tear the wings off!" Jan gasped.

"Below us!" Storm yelped, as, in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, something small and grey zipped past them.

"Drone or missile?" Danvers asked, as she poured on the power, sending the plane straight upwards into the clouds.

"Drone, I think," Storm said. "Whatever it is, it locked in on us."

"Let's see how high it can go," Danvers said calmly. "Van Dyne, what the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to find the control for Stealth mode," Jan answered, her voice slightly muffled as she bent forwards in the co-pilot's seat. "Tony had it installed it on my plane after we got back from Wakanda, so I'm pretty sure he will have installed it— Got it!"

"Thanks. Activate now." Danvers went back to exchanging increasingly terse messages with the Travis control tower, which now wanted to how the hell she had vanished and what the UFOs were.

It was plain the Stealth tech was working, at least on the Air Force's radar...

But not on the drone.

"It's still following," Storm reported. "Gaining on us. Damn fast, considering this plane gets as near as dammit it to Mach 1. D'you suppose it's gonna project another portal?"

"It does seem determined to swallow us," Steve said, wishing that he was as calm as he sounded.

"Do you think they're after you?" Jan asked.

"No. They think I'm dead," Steve said.

_But they've been trying to kill Tony – this is his plane. They could be after him – but they have no reason to think he's here. And how come they're still tracking us?_

_Or are they tracking the plane?_

"Lieutenant, did they put a transmitter on you?" Steve asked.

"No, sir," Storm answered. "They didn't have the chance. Not sure about the Princess, though."

Behind them, someone uttered an explosive word in a language Steve didn't know. He glanced back through the hatchway into the cabin to see Shuri running towards the tail, Betty following at her heels.

_The prisoner? But how can they be sure...?_

Steve was moving after them before he had really thought about it, and he could hear the whir of the Wasp's wings close to his ear. Behind them, he heard Danvers say, "Guess you fly co-pilot after all, Lieutenant."

He reached the rear of the plane's passenger cabin right behind Shuri and Betty who, moving in perfect unison, grabbed the unconscious figure of suit-and-sunglasses by the shoulders and hauled him forward, careless of his legs bumping along the floor.

"What are you going to do with him?" Steve demanded, getting unsubtly in their way.

"Throw him off this plane," Shuri replied.

"You think he may be carrying a beacon of some kind?"

"I know he is."

"Can we jettison it rather than him?" Steve asked, without inflexion.

"Not possible," Shuri replied, equally flatly. "I fed it to him in his soup after I cut it out of my arm. Now get out of our way."

When Steve didn't move, she dropped suit-and-sunglasses' arm, and Betty perforce had to drop the other.

Suddenly, there was a thin blade about three inches long in Shuri's hand, glowing white with the faintest hint of violet. It reminded Steve of her brother's Panther claws.

_Vibranium._

He had no doubt that Shuri would use her weapon if necessary: Peggy had always been more ruthless than he was. And Natasha. Not to mention Hill...

While he could probably take the vibranium blade away from her, there might be a cost and he had a responsibility to her, her brother, and everyone else on the planet. So he took a step backwards, lifting his hands, palm outwards.

"You can't just throw him to his death," he said. 

"I can. And will."

"No, you won't. Not if this plane carries parachutes. Do planes carry parachutes now?" he asked plaintively.

"It's Tony's private plane – and he's big into systems redundancy," Jan said, "so I'll bet it does. Come on, Betty, let's talk to Carol." She flew off, Betty following in her wake.

Which left Steve facing Shuri over that deadly blade. He gave it a significant glance. "So that's how you and Storm escaped. Well, you can't cut a hole in this aircraft at this altitude without killing us all. T'Challa wouldn't be too pleased about that."

"How dare you speak for him!" Shuri snarled.

"Because I know how much your brothers both value you," Steve responded. "I also know the royal family of the Panther tribe does not kill unnecessarily." He leaned down and hefted suit-and-sunglasses over his shoulder.

"Jan's found the parachutes' location," Danvers' voice said in his ear. "But I'll have to take us down into a little more atmosphere. We'll have to depressurise if you're gonna open a hatch."

"Do it!" Steve ordered, as Jan – full sized again – opened a locker close to the main hatch and heaved a parachute onto the floor. She paused to speak urgently to Betty as Steve carried suit-and-sunglasses forward, Shuri at his heels. Together, they inserted the unconscious man into the chute harness. 

"Incoming drone," Storm reported, excited but well under control. "And incoming calls. Sound a little panicky, maybe because we're off their radar. Should I—?”

"Ignore them!" Steve shouted back.

"Depressurising," Danvers informed them. "I'll free the locks on the main hatch when you give the word."

"I'll jump with him," Steve decided, heading back down the aircraft to collect his shield. "Rest of you, into your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

But, suddenly, Jan was standing in front of him, her hands fisted in his shirt. "You can't go, Steve. Tony would never forgive either of us – and you can't put yourself in the hands of the men who intended to sell your dead body."

"I can look after myself."

"Bruce would have said the same thing," Jan pointed out.

 _So would Tony,_ Steve thought. It was not a comforting idea.

"Drone's coming round in front of us," Storm's voice reported. "Damn thing's as persistent as a wasp round a jelly doughnut."

Jan freed a hand and touched it to the communicator in her ear. "Open the hatch!" she ordered.

Steve activated his own comm. "Danvers, wait..."

But Danvers was already on the PA: "Everyone hang on tight. If you aren't in your seats it's too late!"

With Jan's fists still locked in his shirt, Steve was forced to drop his shield and reach for a hold in order to save them both as the main hatch opened.

Wind clutched at them. Jan was still hanging onto him, her head buried in his chest, and he was forced to put his free arm around her. Turning his head towards the front of the plane he saw Shuri and Betty, each with one hand hanging on to a handrail, the other holding the parachute harness, lift the prisoner between them, and fling him through the open hatch—

Only Betty let go of her handhold, not of suit-and-sunglasses. She disappeared out of the hatch still hanging on to the unconscious man.

Steve started after them, but Jan dug in her heels, hanging onto him grimly. She couldn't stop him, but she was still attached to his shirt when they reached the open hatch. "It's all right, Steve," she panted. "It's all right. Betty has my remaining Pym particles. She'll release the parachute and once they're through the portal—"

"I'm sorry, Steve," Betty's voice said over the comm. "They have Bruce. I need to be with him. I'm sure the Avengers will find us both."

Below them, a black speck descended into the portal and vanished.

"Colonel, get us out of here before the drone self destructs!" Steve ordered.

The portal snapped shut at the same moment as the hatch. Danvers sent the jet rocketing high into the sky, outrunning the shockwave as the drone exploded.

Steve glared at Jan. "You planned this."

"Partly, but Betty's role was her idea."

"She is a truly courageous woman," Shuri said. Then, still suspiciously, "How do you know my brothers?"

Steve sighed. "Tony – Tony Stark – can synthesise vibranium. King T'Challa had been in contact with him and they'd come to an... an arrangement. But there was a coup in Wakanda. Hunter – White Wolf – took over. He had allies. Their price involved him luring Stark into Wakanda so they could kill him, but Hunter thought that before he handed him over he could use him as bait to take the Panther prisoner. It didn't work. Together, the Avengers helped T'Challa take back Wakanda." 

"Tony invited T'Challa to join the Avengers," Jan said. "He accepted, on the basis that we could call on each other in need."

"I do not," Shuri said, "find that at all believable. I do not believe it is possible to synthesise vibranium. I do not believe that Hunter would ever do harm to Wakanda. And I certainly do not believe my brother would join your 'Avengers'."

"I don't blame you," Steve said, with his best reassuring smile. "But that portal confirms that you were kidnapped by or at the request of Hunter's allies. I intend to deliver you to King T'Challa and let him explain everything to you. Meanwhile..." He opened his comm. "Colonel, go really high, head for New York, but maintain stealth mode and radio silence. Oh, and watch out for airliners and drones."

He was rewarded with smothered laughter, and felt all the tension drain out of him. Suddenly, he very much wanted to sit down.

"Right," Jan said briskly. "Shuri, come with me and help me rig this baby to bamboozle air traffic control. I'm hoping it's a challenge, but Tony has probably made it automatic. Steve, see if there's any food in the lockers. It's going to be a long flight."

 

When Tony came back to awareness the clatter of helicopter rotors had changed to the almost inaudible purr of a well-tuned auto engine, almost drowned by the swish of tyres on a wet road, but both reverberated from one side of his skull to the other. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew he was lying in a seat in a limo, reclined as far back as it would go, with the seat belt on, a pillow under his head and a blanket tucked around him.

"Easy, Stark. You're safe now."

And that was Barton, who was seated beside him. Thor was, improbably and uncomfortably, perched on the bench seat opposite, his hammer resting across his knees, a deeply reassuring presence.

Behind him, the screens had been drawn back, revealing Natasha at the wheel.

"Armour?" Tony asked, pleased that his voice was working.

"In the trunk. Not sure how much of it you're going to be able to salvage, though."

Tony eased himself into a sitting position, trying to conceal how painful it was to move. In front of him, reflected in the chrome trim, the glow of the arc reactor was bright and steady.

But he could have sworn it had been failing, out there in the ocean.

Though every breath hurt, that pain wasn't centred on the arc reactor, not even when he put a hand to it and pressed against it.

"We replaced the core," Barton said. "Or rather, Nat did."

"Pepper told SHIELD too damn much," Tony groused, not wanting to admit how grateful he was that she had.

"Probably, but it was Cap who suggested we take a spare arc core with us, told us where to find one and how to change it, if necessary."

_Steve. God, I'm glad I let him in on that. Wait, Steve._

Tony reached for the car phone and speed dialled '2' ('1' was Pepper and always had been.) "Hi, Jarvis."

"Sir, it is pleasant to hear your voice."

"Yeah, and yours. Sorry, but I lost your downloaded clone."

"I am quite certain that that would not be a memory I would wish to keep," Jarvis said dryly. "Meanwhile, I have instructions from Ms Potts to put you through to her the instant you call in."

Tony winced. "Override. Put me through to Steve instead."

"I am sorry, sir. I cannot do that at this time."

It echoed what Natasha had said in the helicopter, that they weren't in touch with Steve right at that moment; cold fear silenced Tony for two, three, four breaths. He had only just regained control of his vocal cords when Pepper's voice, familiar with its fear masked in anger, exploded in his ear. "Tony, what the devil's going on?"

"Pep—"

"I already have to deal with you being the absent chairman without our LAX team and your personal pilots reporting a missing seventy million dollar aircraft."

Fear gripped Tony. Had someone discovered what they were building in Seattle? But LAX?

"What's missing?" he asked.

"Your customised G650. You ought to know. You ordered it to LAX. And Steve Rogers apparently commandeered it using authority issued by you personally, before you – before we – when I should have been consulted before you—"

"It's my personal plane," Tony pointed out, " _Loaned_ to SI when I'm not using it.”

"Well, Captain Rogers appears to have loaned it to a C.S.J. Danvers who filed the flight plan. That, from the security description, is the woman who forced her way in to see me, demanding I put her in contact with you."

"Colonel Carol Danvers, USAF," Tony said, grateful to have at least one piece of information that Pepper didn't. "She's a... friend of Rhodey's. So she was flying the plane, not—" He cut off the rest of that sentence just in time. Pepper was angry enough already without him mentioning the only pilot he knew Steve had access to. Steve didn't have a pilot's licence. Not that that would have stopped him...

The self-censorship proved useless.

"Not Van Dyne, no," Pepper snapped. "Security reports Steve had three women with him, and one of them was certainly Van Dyne. Presumably another one was Danvers. I don't know who the third woman was."

_I do. But why would Steve and Jan take Betty with them on a mission?_

"I presume Van Dyne was at Malibu—" Pepper went on.

"What if she was?" Tony shot back. "You don't have control of my social life any more, Potts."

"Did I ever?"

For a moment there was no sound except harsh breathing, and Tony didn't know if it was Pepper's or his. That had cut him to the quick, probably because it was true.

"What happened at the Malibu house, Tony?" Pepper asked at last.

"We had an attempted mugging," Tony explained, but Pepper's snort of exasperation stopped him in his tracks.

"A mugging that took a chunk out of the perimeter wall? And left smoke rising on the other side in the grounds?"

The ice was accumulating in Tony's guts, grinding glacier-like along his nerves.

_What the hell? No wonder Steve and Jan took Betty with them. But why haven't they called in?_

"There's been an attack?"

"How would I know?" Pepper snapped back. "Jarvis won't let me in, or give me any explanation. I can't contact the plane. I had no idea where you are. I still don't have any idea where you are. Unless you’re at Travis."

"Travis? Travis Air Force Base?" Tony had the awful feeling he sounded as bewildered as he felt.

"That was the destination on Danvers' flight plan. And that's where the UFO reports are coming from, of strange lights in the sky and a private jet putting on an aerobatic display."

_Jesus!_

"You're squandering assets like there's no—"

"Sorry, Pep. No more time." Tony cut contact and glared about him at his fellow Avengers. "What's going on? What's happening with Cap and Jan?" 

"Wish we knew," Barton said. "No, wait, wait, Stark." He raised his hands, palms outwards, whether defensively or placatingly was not immediately clear. "Cap told me and Nat you were in trouble – possibly Thor too. He and Van Dyne arranged a repurposed air-sea rescue helicopter for us to pick up at Norfolk. We went looking for you, but Thor found us first – and then he found you."

"Communications were bad in the wake of Sandros," Natasha said. "So when we first lost contact with Cap we didn't worry. He'd said that he would be heading back East, eventually, but there was something he and the Wasp had to do first. But there's been nothing since that first call from California."

"Except my private jet dodging UFOs right outside Frisco," Tony said. "It's apparently all over the internet. Or so Pepper says."

"The Chitauri? Loki?" Barton's voice was tense, his hands clasped tight on his lap, as if he was trying to physically stop himself reaching for his bow.

"Loki is imprisoned in Asgard," Thor said, his voice calm and level. "Nor would whoever lent him that army try the same tactics after such a defeat, even if they had access to the Tesseract. Which they do not. And it is as well they do not. We have enemies enough on Midgard."

_Yeah, we do. And some of them are Asgardian... maybe. Some in Washington, definitely. And perhaps some in SHIELD. Yes, the odds are high that we have enemies in SHIELD._

_Fury? Hill? Coulson's old grandpappy? Possibly._

_There are other, more worrying possibilities, though. Hawkeye and the Widow? They came back from Washington awful suddenly._

_Double agents?_

_Is Thor hinting that that is the case?_

He lifted an eyebrow at Thor, who smiled blandly back.

He could trust Thor. Had to continue trusting Thor because the last time he had done so, it had saved Steve's life.

Tony lay back, turned his head into the pillow and closed his eyes. He had a lot to think about on the long ride into Manhattan.

 

 

As they disembarked from the limo in the private garage under the Tower, Jarvis said, "Welcome back, sir. You have a visitor."

"What?" Tony had hoped that Steve might have been in contact, had expected Jarvis to put him in touch or at least give him news. This abrupt announcement was a warning of sorts – Jarvis wasn't saying who it was for a reason.

"The visitor is currently with Dr Pym."

"Oh, one of Hank's cronies." Tony hoped he had managed the right dismissive note. "That can wait. I need to shower, change and get the Bots working on new armour. Nat, Barton, I suggest you do the same. Well, not the working on the armour, obviously. Thor, I'll show you to your apartment. Unless gods don't need to bathe or sleep."

"I would indeed appreciate a bath," Thor told him. "Also less conspicuous clothing."

"That we can do," Tony assured him.

Thor smiled back. "Sleep can wait for some time yet."

"Good. Sleep is for wimps – or at least not for Asgardian gods," Tony said, ushering Thor into the elevator. "We need to find out who's closeted with Hank," he added. Then, as the doors closed, he went on, impulsively, "There's something I have to tell you: the people I encountered in the eye of the hurricane were... magic users. Or at least what looked like magic. They had this sorta-Viking ship floating in the air in the middle of the eye."

"There are Asgardian ships that might match that description," Thor admitted, thoughtfully. "How large was it?"

"Maybe thirty feet, prow to stern. A single square sail. It had a tent thing instead of a cabin, and there were no oars. Or oarsmen."

"So it is too small for _Skíðblaðnir_ , and Freyr would not sail that to Midgard, even if Odin ordered it," Thor said. "We must be thankful.” 

"The crew could, you know, have been Asgardians," Tony said. "Two of them gave physical readings closer to yours than baseline human."

"Or from one of the other Nine Worlds," Thor agreed. "Describe what happened."

 

Thor listened to Tony's story without speaking, but his eyes changed from their normal sky blue to something dark and, well, thunderous; bright fire flickered in their cold, iron-grey depths.

"The stone," he said. "You are sure it fell into the sea? That Kar— that the witch did not manage to retrieve it?"

"Not that I saw. It went under the waves and the ship vanished. Not before the woman had done something to the suit, though."

"She would say she had laid a spell on you. But, friend Tony, sending the stone to the bottom of the sea was well done. Very well done indeed."

"You know what it was? Who the woman was?"

Thor sighed and shook his head. "I hope against hope that I do not. But I fear that I what I suspect is true: that Karnilla, Queen of the Norns, is not dead, as Loki assured us, so many years ago, but hidden here on Earth, even from the eyes of Heimdall, for if he knew she lived the alarm would have been raised. As for the stone – it is as dangerous as she is, nearly as powerful as the Tesseract."

"But the Tesseract is still in Asgard?"

"Yes. Well guarded. We... or rather my mother, and I would not argue with her on this... believes it is not of the Nine Worlds, but will not say what she thinks it is to anyone but my father. All she will tell me is that it could pose a threat to the universe, perhaps to all the universes."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Oh, great."

"Exactly. But the Norn stones merely pose a threat to the Nine Worlds, including both Asgard and Midgard."

_Merely the Nine Worlds. Not so very dangerous. Right._

Tony took a deep breath and steadied himself. "We'll meet in half an hour in the Avengers' conference room. Jarvis will inform everyone else and direct you there. Jarvis, that includes Hank. Tell him to bring his guest. Oh, and provide coffee for everyone."

"Of course, sir. But may I suggest you will also need food, sir. You yourself have not eaten anything for nearly twenty-four hours. The same is almost certainly true of Prince Thor."

"Coffee, bagels, doughnuts, sandwiches, whatever, just keep it simple," Tony snapped. "And you aren't Thor's keeper, Jarvis, any more than you are mine."

There was a short silence, while Tony rubbed his face with his hands and tried to get his temper under control. What was more, in instructing Jarvis, he'd forgotten the most important command of all. "And, fuckit, trace Steve and Jan."

Thor's huge hands closed on Tony's shoulders. "Anthony. Steven is not easy to kill and now he has much to live for. Remember, you yourself were out of touch with the Widow, Hawkeye and myself for far longer. And in more obvious danger."

While it was not something that Tony wanted to hear, the ice in his stomach melted a little. He tapped Thor gently on the chest. "I had you to help, Goldilocks. I just hope you're right about Cap."

"I am," Thor said, with supreme confidence. "Now you have seen to my needs, I suggest you go and see to yours."

 _At least Thor has faith in his teammates,_ was the message Tony carried with him, first to the penthouse for a quick shower and a change of clothing, then to his workshop, and finally to the Avengers conference room.

 

When he entered, he found Thor was leaning against the wall beside the door, and no longer wearing his armour. However, the jeans and tight red tee only served to emphasise his size and muscle, and with his hammer lying on his crossed arms, he was plainly guarding the exit.

Hank, meanwhile, was standing at the far side of the conference table, his hands thrust into his pockets and a scowl on his face. As for his visitor, despite the immaculately tailored suit, so at odds with everything else Tony had seen him wearing, there was no mistaking the man seated at the conference table.

"T'Challa," Tony greeted, with no surprise left in him. "This is unexpected, but welcome to Avengers Tower."

"Doctor Pym has been most hospitable," T'Challa said easily, rising and offering his hand to Tony, who clasped it firmly. "I was lucky that the one person who remained in the Tower in what was plainly an emergency actually knew me, though it was your A.I. – a most remarkable creation and I do congratulate you on it – which recognised me and alerted him."

"Couldn't bar Jarvis from my lab," Hank said cheerfully. "He's just like you, Tony; he doesn't shut up until he gets what he wants."

"I taught him all he knows," Tony said, pretending to preen, as Natasha and Clint arrived together.

Once the introductions were complete, Tony called the meeting to order. "T'Challa," he said, "you plainly didn't come here to sample our hospitality, so—"

"Just a minute," Hank interrupted. "Where's Jan? I know she was with you in Malibu. I've tried to call her half a dozen times, but she's not answering her cell. I can't contact Steve, either."

T'Challa looked up sharply. "Steve?"

It was Thor who answered. "Captain Rogers was healed in Asgard. It was he who sent me to turn the hurricane aside."

"Jarvis, repeat the briefing you gave me twenty minutes ago," Tony ordered, though he really did not want to listen to it again. Instead, he helped himself to coffee and bagels and listened with half an ear as Jarvis recounted the events that had led to the departure of Jan and Steve from Malibu, and their eventual arrival at Travis airbase.

 

 

"... Captain Rogers, Ms Van Dyne and Colonel Danvers appear to have rescued Lieutenant Storm and his companion. Mr Stark's private jet then took off from Travis with a flight plan filed for New York. However, following reports of evasive action by the jet and bright lights in the sky, both vanished. There has been no contact since," Jarvis finished.

"That does not sound good," Barton said. "How come Jarvis wasn't uploaded to your private plane, Tony?"

Tony sighed. "Reasons. It's not automatic. If I'd been there he would have been, and Steve and Jan could have done it at any time via satellite communications. Jarvis didn't suggest it because he was monitoring them through that link. When that went down, it was too late. Jarvis lost them. So ultimately, my error."

_And an error that might have cost everyone on that plane their lives._

Tony didn't dare look at Hank.

"It is possible the plane is maintaining radio silence with stealth tech switched on," he added quickly. "Jan has my stealth on her personal jet, so she may have remembered it. If so, there's nothing we can do but wait. And deal with the Panther's problem. So how can we help, T'Challa?"

"My sister Shuri was kidnapped from her lab at the Sorbonne less than forty eight hours ago," T'Challa said. "I suspected the mercenary group we defeated in Wakanda. I flew to France, but by then her kidnappers had crossed the English Channel by helicopter and landed at a US Air Force base in Suffolk."

"RAF Lakenheath," Tony identified. "It's a fighter base."

"Perhaps, but it wasn't a fighter that took off half an hour after the helicopter's arrival," T'Challa said. "It was a long range transport and it was heading across the Atlantic."

Tony's eyes flew to Barton, who grimaced. Natasha was frowning. Hank looked worried.

He supposed he did too. "We've had our own problems with a faction in the Pentagon," he said carefully.

"It may be more than a faction," T'Challa said. "An attack on me is more likely to come from your State department. My agents here are working on it, along with the Embassies of our allies, but I have more faith in your computers and your contacts, Stark."

"My contacts are better," Natasha said. "And SHIELD might help, particularly since Thor saved the east coast from hurricane Sandro."

"That's a decision for T'Challa," Tony said.

T'Challa's mouth twisted. "It's a decision I have to make as the ruler of Wakanda and not as the brother of Shuri," he said. "And, thank you, Black Widow, but I cannot place Wakanda in SHIELD's debt so soon after their incursions."

"Fury would be bound to take advantage," Tony agreed. "Okay, Jarvis, let's get code-cracking."

"May I observe?" T'Challa asked.

"No. You may help. Hank?"

"I'm in."

"Clint and I will make some calls," Natasha said. "Though if we are going to intimidate anyone we may have to head for Washington."

"I am of little use in this," Thor said. "What do you wish me to do?"

Tony hesitated. He wanted very badly to send Thor to the Travis Air Force base in an attempt to find Steve, but he would arrive far too late to be of use. Sending him back to Asgard with the intelligence about Karnilla and the Norn Stone might result in him never returning to Earth. "Do you know how well Selvig is getting on with the research I sub-contracted to him?"

"No, but I can find out."

"Contact me if you or Erik – or, for that matter, Dr Foster or anyone on her staff – need transport. Or lab accommodation here."

 

Tony swiped away the Air Traffic Control reports for Kansas and the surrounding states covering the last twelve hours, sending them on to Hank, who was co-ordinating the search for Shuri, and T'Challa who was, in turn, keeping up in between receiving and adding the reports from his own agents and contacts.

Jarvis had tracked the paths of three different Air Force transports across the Atlantic (which was always assuming that Shuri had not been put in a car and driven to one of a dozen UK airports or an obscure creek leading to the North Sea, in either case being shipped to God alone knew where) the most likely of which had landed at McConnell Air Force Base and was still there, though it was doubtful Shuri was. 

If she was even alive.

Jarvis was trawling the internet, shattering firewalls and hacking government, commercial and personal databases and emails alike, looking for references to any unidentified young female African, for references to Wakanda and T'Challa as well as Shuri and, while he was about it, to references to the Eternal Champions, to Stormbringer, to Cornelius Moorcock and any other reference to Michael Moorcock or his characters outside of literary criticism, reviews or book sales. Tony had the uneasy feeling that once this tactic had been exhausted they would have to go on to sixties fantasy literature in general, then science fiction and, eventually, Tolkien, Heinlein and Asimov...

A search which would probably continue for the next several years.

Meanwhile, Tony had put the finishing touches to the next iteration of Iron Man and set the manufacturing bots to work, dealt with reports from Seattle and Stark Energy branch offices and...

_What's this?_

Oh, yes. The final report on the partial failure of the arc reactor core...

_Hold on. That can't be right._

"Jay," Tony said, "you'd better run the diagnostics on the old reactor core again."

"I have already done so, sir. A number of times. The results remain unchanged."

"The fact that I'm standing here talking to you proves you wrong," Tony snapped.

"I am aware of that paradox, sir. Perhaps the presence of magic..."

"The suit and the reactor were affected by Asgardian technology," Tony retorted stressing the last word. "I am not a ghost or a zombie, damn it."

It made no sense. Maybe if he wasn't so tired...

But T'Challa was depending on him, and if he slept...

The data blurred in front of his eyes. 

"Sir," Jarvis announced, "the Van Dyne limousine has just entered your private garage."

"Video now!" Tony barked, and the holograms sprang to life.

The black and gold limo was just coming to a stop, not in a parking space but in front of the elevator. The doors opened, and a fair-haired man in Air Force blues jumped out, holding the door open for Jan, in her Wasp outfit—

 _Trust Jan to paint her limo in her superhero colours,_ Tony thought, with a growing feeling of relief and amusement.

She was followed by Carol Danvers, in a neat black pants suit, and Steve—

Even though he had been expecting to see him, Tony had to steady himself against the workbench.

_Thank God, oh thank God..._

Steve wasn't in uniform, but his shield was slung over his shoulders.

And the last to exit the limo was another unknown, a chic slim girl—

"Shuri!" T'Challa gasped. 

"Come on!" Tony grabbed T'Challa's arm. "Jarvis, garage express elevator to this floor," he ordered as he hustled T'Challa out of the door. Hank was right behind them. 

 

"Express elevator's going up currently," Jan announced, staring at the indicators in exasperation. "In fact, all the elevators are going up. Jarvis?"

"Yes, Ms Van Dyne." Jarvis's voice from the air made everyone except Steve and Jan herself jump. "The express elevator will be with you shortly."

Indeed, the express elevator's directional arrow was now pointing downwards.

"Jarvis," Steve said. "Has there been any word from Tony?"

Jarvis did not answer.

 

Less than a minute later, the lift doors opened and Avengers spilled out into the garage. Jan yelped and flung herself at Hank, who had braced himself to stay upright with reactions honed by long practice.

Shuri gasped in surprise – and possibly pleasure, but Steve didn't think so – as T'Challa shouldered his way past Storm and Danvers to glare down at her and ask a plainly angry question in Wakandan.

But that didn't matter, because Tony was there, standing looking at him, his dark eyes huge in a too-pale face. Steve wanted, desperately, to sweep him into his arms, the way Hank had Jan.

But he couldn't, of course. They weren't alone. 

Tony's eyes swept on over him and lighted on Colonel Danvers. "Have you crashed my plane, Danvers?" he demanded.

"No, but your buddies here crashed mine."

Jan broke off from enthusiastically kissing Hank to remark, "You should have filed a flight plan, Carol. As for yours, Tony, it's safe in the Van Dyne Enterprises hangar. My plane is still in Washington. It's all spreading confusion to our enemies."

"And to New York air traffic control," Shuri muttered, She was also plainly in avoidance mode. "So you really know these people, brother?" she asked brightly. "Don't tell me you're actually a member of their ridiculous group!"

T'Challa chuckled. "I am. It is a great honour, sister." He held out a hand to Steve, who clasped it warmly. "I am overjoyed that the reports of your demise were greatly exaggerated."

"Not that greatly," Steve said. "If it hadn't been for Thor and Frigga I wouldn't be here."

"Neither would my sister, apparently."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. But at least she held off killing me until we arrived here," Steve said, forcing a grin which widened into a real smile as Natasha and Clint spilled from the second elevator.

Tony swung away. "So you're John Storm," he exclaimed, in what sounded like glee. "By the myriad tentacles of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, am I finally going to get to ask you who the hell would want to steal your dead sister's DNA?"

 _"What?"_ Storm actually took a step backwards. His expression suggested he thought Tony was unhinged.

But Tony wasn't actually listening to the Lieutenant any more. Instead, he was looking about him in dismay. "Hey, where's Helen of Troy? I know she was with you at LAX..." 

Steve took a deep breath and tried to find words.

Jan, however, beat him to the punch. "Betty's on her own path to find Bruce. And she may find some answers to our questions on the way."

Storm, meanwhile, had shouldered his way past Danvers, T'Challa and Shuri to confront Tony. "What the fuck is this about Sue's DNA?"

"She donated it to an experiment while she was still at Culver. When the samples were examined prior to destruction, hers was missing."

"It could just have been mislaid," Storm protested.

"Maybe," Jan said, "But someone had gone to some lengths to make sure it couldn't be identified as hers. Luckily," she smiled a little, and her eyes shifted to Hank for a moment, "the researcher involved believed in record redundancy."

"That is so weird," Storm said. "No. I can't. I mean, Mom thought her boyfriend a tad obsessive, and too old for her, I know that, but he's dead too. In fact, he was the one who killed her – though I guess if I'd been older I'd have been piloting that spacecraft, not Ben Grimm."

"Major Grimm was a qualified test pilot and astronaut," Jan said helpfully. “Susan Storm's boyfriend was Doctor Reed Richards." 

"Who designed the backyard rocket that killed all of them," Tony said. "Brilliant theoretical scientist, Richards, but no engineer."

"It wasn't a rocket," Storm protested. "And Reed had a Mechanical Engineering Masters."

"Didn't help with calculating the survival odds," Tony retorted. "So, you can't help us."

"Maybe not with that, but the same people kidnapped him and Princess Shuri," Steve said. Then, as Tony turned to glare at him, he added, "And they were using the same tech as the mercenaries in Wakanda. Including their transportation portal."

The glare did not lessen. "Really? The quantum bridge."

"Really," Jan said, supporting Steve. "Somehow his abduction and Shuri's, not to mention what happened to the Hulk, are all tied together."

"Yeah, in a mixture of bowlines and granny knots."

"Well, you know how to deal with a Gordian knot, Tony," Jan said.

 _'I'd cut the wire.'_ Steve remembered that all too well, just as he remembered Iron Man riding that missile into Loki's portal.

Tony whirled on Storm. "Well?" he asked, his eyebrows up. "Do you have any idea why you were abducted?"

"I didn't even realise I was being abducted until I met the Princess. I thought it was a USAF SNAFU. Maybe it was."

"It wasn't," Danvers said. "Your abductors weren't Air Force, though they had all the right papers, which means traitors in the command structure." She raised her head to stare back at Tony, her jaw set as hard as his, her expression as cold. "I wasn't entirely honest when I met you the first time, Stark. Jim is my good friend, but I'm an agent of the Secretary of the Air Force, who wanted to know why his one and only superhero had vanished."

Tony turned his gimlet stare towards the Black Widow. "Nat?"

"His name hasn't come up," Natasha replied. "The same can't be said of the Air Force Chief of Staff: he's part of the Pentagon cabal who're out to take you down and get their hands on Steve."

"I'm not sure I should be hearing this," Storm said.

"It's certainly above your pay grade," Danvers admitted. "Above mine, as it happens. I should report this to the Secretary."

"Maybe you should," Natasha said, in a neutral voice.

"Will you allow me to?" Danvers asked, with a half smile. She did not seem in the least worried at the prospect. But then she didn't actually know Natasha.

Barton was smirking.

"We can't stop you," Steve said. "We can't even ask. No, Tony, we can't. Like Colonel Rhodes, she has a duty—" He stopped, biting the inside of his lips. He didn't need the expression on Tony's face to tell him how personally dangerous that remark had been.

_Tony values friendship above duty, and loyalty to friends above everything. He banished Rhodes – and Pepper – from his life for disloyalty. Is he about to do the same to me?_

"I was sent on a mission to find Jim Rhodes," Danvers said. "I haven't accomplished that yet. And if there are traitors in the Air Force, the Air Force needs to set its own house in order. I can't do that alone. If you're all willing, I'd like to work with you. As for you, Lieutenant, we aren't sending you back to be kidnapped again – at least, not until we have some idea of why those imposters abducted you."

"Good enough," Tony said, and Steve started breathing again. "Welcome aboard, Colonel, Lieutenant. Jarvis, find quarters for these people, please. They look ragged. Hank, you and Jan are excused. Nat, Clint, could you help Danvers and Storm to get settled? And fed. Definitely fed. Food is good. I have to talk to Thor, so there's that. Selvig and Foster too. Then there are things I need to do in the workshop. Steve, for God's sake get some sleep. T'Cha—"

"I'll come to the workshop with you," Steve said, as firmly as he could manage. "I'd like to talk to Thor too."

Tony waved it aside. "Call him when you want. Jarvis has the number of the cell I gave him. You can't help in the workshop. I have that all in hand." He turned away from Steve, plainly dismissing him. "T'Challa, you're on your own cognisance, but you're welcome here as long as you want to stay. As is your sister."

"Stark, if I might request a private word," T'Challa said.

"Of course." Tony signalled for T'Challa to follow him, and the two of them hurried into a corner of the parking lot.

Steve lingered, straining to hear what was being said. So did Shuri.

 

"I intend to take Shuri back to Wakanda, though she will undoubtedly argue for a return to the Sorbonne," T'Challa said quietly. "There are matters I need to take care of in Wakanda but I will come back to New York soon. I think it is time Wakanda made two way contact with the rest of the world. When I return I would like to make the Tower my base, temporarily, until I can purchase an appropriate embassy building."

"You can, of course, but I have a mansion sitting right on Central Park that is currently unoccupied. It's secure – at least it was in my father's day – and we stripped out anything valuable many years ago."

He would have sold it, but his mother had loved that house, and so had Jarvis – God, he missed the original real live Jarvis, more than he missed his parents, which was something he didn't want to think about too closely – so perhaps it needed to be used again.

"That is incredibly generous of you, Stark," T'Challa said. He looked slyly at Tony, head slightly tilted, a smile just twitching his lips. "Would it offend you if I did not accept?"

Tony took his cue from the smile. "Yes," he said firmly.

"Then I do so. Gladly. We will discuss terms later." T'Challa held out his hand and Tony shook it. "You will not be out of pocket, or disappointed."

 _If that means more vibranium, then I'm all for it,_ Tony thought, though he managed not to say it out loud.

T'challa was grinning, wide and happy. Maybe he could read Tony's thoughts. "You will keep me informed of your progress tracing the kidnappers."

It wasn't a question, but Tony said, "Of course. And remember you can call on us as necessary."

"And you on Wakanda. Now I shall call one of my agents," T'Challa went on, "and Shuri and I will return to Wakanda."

Tony could see Shuri standing besides Steve near the elevator. She was scowling.

"You can tell her," Tony responded, wondering if she had overheard. He was pretty sure Steve, with his enhanced hearing had heard every word, but that didn't really matter: they hadn't said anything that he didn't want Steve to hear. Yet. He certainly didn't want to say anything about Asgardian witches, or his little dip in the Atlantic. "Good luck." 

_I have my own arguments to win. But not tonight._

 

Steve was waiting by the elevator as Tony and T'Challa approached. Before he had even opened his mouth to speak, Tony said, "You know what they say about eavesdroppers, Cap," before ducking under the arm Steve reached for him, and into the elevator, leaving the two Wakandans staring questioningly at Steve.

_Well fuck them. And fuck Tony – no, don't go there, Rogers. He can rot in that damn workshop for all I care._

Deliberately, Steve pressed the call button on the second elevator. He'd get some food, and some sleep, and tomorrow – or later today – he'd deal with Tony. Maybe.

 

Steve roamed around his suite, unable to settle, opening drawers and cupboards, picking things up at random and putting them back. He didn't think he was looking for anything in particular until, in a box in the bathroom, he found himself staring at half a dozen small tubes of lube and two boxes of condoms.

Not that those meant anything. Like the painkillers and first aid box and the cotton buds and the safety razors, they were just things that Tony (or whoever he had gotten to equip the bathrooms) figured might be needed.

_Really good foresight, Tony. Maybe... maybe I should go find him._

Except that he had received no indication that he'd be welcome.

Unless Tony was putting on a show of indifference towards him in order to keep their... affair... secret.

He'd said he had no intention of keeping that particular secret from the team...

_I'm missing something._

This was Tony, and Tony's favourite tactic was...

_Distraction. Diversion. But from what...?_

"Jarvis," Steve asked urgently, "is Tony injured?"

"I can detect no more than severe bruising, some of which must be the result of his fight with War Machine, rather than his experiences in the Atlantic," Jarvis answered.

Maybe someone not as familiar with Jarvis as Steve would not have noticed that overly careful phrasing.

"'Appears'? But you were in the suit with him."

"I was not. As you know, communications with my main servers were lost when Iron Man entered the hurricane, and the Jarvis-download was wiped during the fight in its eye."

"What?" _Was that what Tony was trying to hide? Surely not._ "How did that happen? Do you know?" 

"According to Mr Stark, there was a battle with a woman who Prince Thor refers to as Karnilla, Queen of the Norns. She disabled the Iron Man suit, which was downed in the ocean. Mr Stark says he did not lose power completely, and the suit eventually returned to the surface, where Thor located it. Thor brought Mr Stark aboard the helicopter where Ms Romanoff replaced the arc reactor core with the spare you had suggested she take with her."

"It really failed?" Steve's heart was thundering. "I didn't think – it was just a precaution –" He didn't know right now whether he wanted to wrap his arms around Tony and never let go or punch him through the nearest wall. "Wait – you said that it did not lose power. No, that Tony said it did not lose power. That's – Jarvis, was he lying? If so, why?"

"Perhaps because he cannot explain his survival. I have scanned the remains of the armour and the spent core," Jarvis said, "and my calculations show the residual power levels fell below what was needed to sustain life support over a protracted period."

Steve remained silent, breathing slowly, trying to control his rage.

"Where is Tony now?" he asked, when he had his voice under control.

"In the workshop," Jarvis said, with an air of satisfaction that suggested that that had been what he was aiming for all along.

Steve looked down at the things in his hands without seeing them, shoved them into his pockets, and headed out of the door.

 

"Sir, you should eat, then rest," Jarvis said, for what Tony was sure was the fiftieth time.

Despite the irritation, Tony ignored the AI. His life depended on the arc reactor and he dared not rest until he figured out how it had been disabled, not to mention how he had survived what Jarvis had calculated was a devastating loss of power. He could not afford a repeat, particularly as he had a feeling they were going to run into the Wicked Witch of Nornland again.

Thor thought so too. Tony had spoken to him, and to Selvig, who had told him that there were definite similarities between the device he had built under Loki's instructions – or under instructions emanating from the Tesseract and Loki's staff and he didn't, he told Tony, know which possibility scared him more – and the fragments of the 'quantum bridge' the mercenaries had used in Wakanda.

Which had apparently been used again today.

He needed to get the full story out of Jan, who at least had the background scientific knowledge, if not in quantum physics, but that also would have to wait for several hours. 

_A lot of things will have to wait._

Then elevator doors slide aside and Steve, who should have been upstairs and sleeping, stalked into the room, and Tony knew that he was going to have to deal with him, at least.

_Shit._

"Jarvis, security breech!" he said. "Fuck it, I thought I'd built some loyalty into your algorithms. Am I or am I not due some respect around here? Who created you, anyway?"

_How had he forgotten to order Jarvis to keep everyone, including Steve, out of the workshop?_

"At least you might have given me some warning."

_Because, damn it, Steve is going to freak over everything. Particularly about the arc reactor failure._

_He mustn't find out. I'm not ready for that._

But Steve had that contained look that meant he was furious about something.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Steve demanded, striding forward so that he loomed over Tony, who rose to his feet, though he knew that would only decrease the height difference, not eliminate it.

"Tell you what?" Tony asked, with feigned indifference. "Scientific details that'll just go over your head?"

Steve ignored the jibe. "That, according to Jarvis, you should be dead."

_Oh, shit, shit, shit. How could Jarvis have broken his protocols? I ordered him to— Or did I? Can't remember._

"Well I'm not dead," he said. "Not gonna eat your brains this time, Cap."

"Forget the jokes, Stark," Steve snarled back. "How could the arc reactor fail?" His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

"It didn't. Obviously."

"According to Jarvis, it did. If I hadn't been – if Nat hadn't listened – if you hadn't been so damn reckless– I was on the other side of the continent and I nearly lost you!"

 _He's going to hit me,_ Tony thought, already reaching forward. He hooked his hand behind Steve's head, jerking their mouths together into a ferocious kiss, a clash of lips and tongues and teeth, Steve answering the assault with equal passion, pushing Tony away from the workbench.

Then Steve's hands closed on his waist to lift him, and the pain made Tony gasp and flinch before he could stop himself from reacting.

Steve dropped him abruptly, grabbed his wrists in one big hand, forcing them above his head, pinning Tony against the nearest wall. With his free hand, he grabbed Tony's T-shirt by the collar and ripped the garment away.

"Hey, that was a classic," Tony protested, but it was half hearted, because he was throbbing with desire...

Steve, though, had dropped both his hands and was looking at Tony's revealed chest in a kind of horror, not at the arc reactor, which he was on record as finding 'beautiful' but at the bruises and scrapes that covered every inch of skin.

"Christ, Steve, don't stop now—"

"Fuck it, Tony, what have you done to yourself? You were already hurt."

"Well, at least I'm not dead and as for fucking, get on with it, will you."

"I'll hurt you." Steve's voice was shaking slightly, whether from passion or anger or both Tony couldn't tell.

Damn the man's iron control. Tony's eyes only had to drop a little to know how much will power those three words had taken.

_Well, let's test it to its limits._

His eyes fixed on Steve's, Tony unbuckled his belt while toeing off his shoes, then pulled down pants and boxers in a single movement and stepped free. Breaking eye contact, he turned, leaned his hands against the wall, and spread his legs.

He said; "For fuck's sake, Rogers, this is one way you won't hurt me. Now, for Christ's sake, get on with fucking me." He wriggled his ass for emphasis.

"You're sure?" It was little more than a whisper.

"For pity's sake, do I have to make myself any damn clearer? Yes. I am sure. Yes, please fuck me. Yes— oh, Christ." 

Because fingers were digging into his ass, between his buttocks...

"Yes. Yes, oh, god, Steve, yes..."

The hands withdrew, and Tony whimpered in frustration, but there was the sound of a zip, a mutter of impatience from behind him, then a finger rimmed and penetrated, cool with lube...

_Dear god, Steve had come here prepared and—_

"Get on with it," he gasped. "Come on, Steve, fuck me. 

He'd thought he'd forgotten what this felt like, but the memories came flooding back, and he wanted it, wanted it so much, and he couldn't wait, didn't want to wait...

It seemed like years before Steve's fingers withdrew, and Tony took one breath after another, trying to contain his loss and his need. Then he heard the snap of the condom and grinned to himself.

"Now you're prepared, boy scout. So get in there—aahhhh."

Instantly, he pushed back, taking the whole length of Steve's cock into him. He wasn't really ready, and Steve wasn't small, but it felt so good, even the burn and stretch...

He reached down for his own cock, but Steve's hand was already there. 

They moved together, hard and fast, with no trace of tenderness, in a mutual drive towards orgasm.

 

Tony lay on the floor of the lab, the epoxy-resin flooring cool against his skin, uncomfortable, but too exhausted to move. When he did, he suspected it would be painful. Steve had come twice inside him before Tony had finally lost control and let orgasm overtake him. What was more, he was pretty sure the condom had split under the strain and his thighs were sticky and, no doubt, smelly.

He was not sure, right at this moment, if it had been worth it.

A warm hand grasped his ankle and moved his leg – and yes, that hurt – but the touch that followed – soft tissue against his skin, wet and then dry – was gentle.

He supposed he ought to say something, but this was all too personal, his emotions too engaged. Once he started talking he wouldn't be able to stop. And Steve, if he knew him at all, was too embarrassed and horrified by his own actions to engage.

Yes, Steve – he presumed it was Steve – it had better be Steve – had moved away. Possibly out of the workshop and out of his life.

Then the hands were back, and cloth was being wrapped round him – the comforter from the couch, probably – then Steve's arms slid under him, lifting him.

"C'n walk," he protested, but he was too restrained by the comforter to escape.

There was no answer from Steve.

_So this is what it is like._

He didn't really remember being carried through the corridors or into the elevator, but he woke up as he was being unwrapped from the comforter. The sheet beneath him was silky on his skin but he missed Steve's warmth.

Quickly, he rolled over, and reached up to grab Steve's arm.

"Don't go."

Steve was grinning down at him. "Tony, sweetheart, you may not have noticed but you're in my bed."

It took several seconds for Tony's exhausted brain to digest this. "Oh," he said at last. "Guess you're not going anywhere."

"I'm going to shower, take care of a few other things, then I'm coming to bed. Don't suppose you'll still be awake..."

It was a challenge that Tony was determined to win, even though he kept slipping into a state of half-dream, until the bed dipped and a powerful arm fell across his shoulders. He snuggled close to Steve, reassured by warm skin and familiar scent and the knowledge that Steve's anger had been dissipated, and his questions diverted; Tony let himself sleep.

He'd deal with everything else later. Much later.


	26. Questions of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an uneasy morning after the night before...

The voice was familiar, firm and carrying. "Sir, there is a message for you."

_Jarvis._

Instantly, Steve was properly awake, and tumbled in an avalanche of memory, all too aware of what he had said and done – what Tony had said and done.

And, right now, Tony was cuddled against his chest, arm around his waist, face pressed into the curve between Steve's neck and shoulders, beard prickling his skin.

He was, thank God, breathing normally.

There were so many emotions: shame at what he had done, fury at the way Tony had tried to conceal the failure of the ARC reactor, fear that he had done so much damage to him that Tony would never forgive him—

But then there was the memory of Tony relaxing in his arms, sleepy and trusting, as he carried him here, to his own rooms because he was terrified that he would not be allowed to wake up next to him, Tony's arms closing round him the instant he came to bed, with a little mutter of contentment before sleep overtook him—

Tenderness overwhelmed him, followed by lust that reinforced the shame.

Necessarily, he shoved all of it aside.

"Jarvis, keep it down," he ordered, his voice a forceful whisper, afraid of waking Tony, afraid of facing him. "What's this about?"

"Prince Thor is calling in. He says he must speak with Mr Stark," Jarvis answered.

"Ask him if I won't do instead," Steve said, attempting to disentangle himself without waking Tony.

"I'm afraid he is insistent, Captain. If you do not wake Mr Stark then I must."

Tony muttered something unintelligible, his fingers biting into Steve's bicep.

Steve still hesitated, but he knew he could not stop Jarvis from raising his voice, sounding the alarms, or strobing the lights. He sighed, bent down and kissed Tony gently on the cheek, then the lips. "C'mon, honey, wake up."

Tony's eyes opened, blinked a couple of times, then he smiled at Steve with such sweetness that, for a moment, it drove everything but desire out of Steve's head. "Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself," Steve replied, forcing himself to smile back.

The smile vanished from Tony's face. "Something wrong?"

Damn it, when had Tony learned to read him that accurately?

"Jarvis has Thor on the line," Steve said, evading the question.

Tony pushed himself into a sitting position and his face twisted in pain, overwhelming Steve in another wave of guilt. "Jarvis? Better put Thor through, before he gets impatient and calls Heimdall. You got a tablet or laptop in here, Steve?"

Wordlessly, Steve opened the top drawer of the bedside table, took out the StarkPad inside, and put it on the bed besides Tony.

Tony's eyebrows shot up, probably because Steve had, almost from the beginning, been excused from following the 'don't hand me things rule' but he switched it on, and rested it on his knees as it booted.

"Okay, Thor," he said, "lay it on me, buddy."

"Friend Stark, the good Jarvis informs me that you were asleep. I am sorry to have to wake you, but the matter is urgent. An hour ago, my dear Jane's base camp was attacked. My friends fought back valiantly. Erik's defences held firm, and Darcy wielded her taser mightily."

"And you were there."

"Indeed, I was there. Nor were the enemy expecting me." This was followed by an evil chuckle. Then Thor added, in a much more sober voice: "If they had been, they would have sent the Asgardian witch."

"Asgardian witch?" Steve once again felt the world dropping away. "What Asgardian witch?" He glared at Tony who, perhaps wisely, remained silent.

"Steven?" Thor said. "Did Anthony not tell yo—?" He broke off abruptly as Tony cleared his throat.

"We haven't had time to exchange details," Tony said, making a cutting motion with one hand across his throat at Steve. "So, a portal and mercenaries?"

"Indeed."

"Do you have... prisoners?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. This time, Steve knew better than to try to fill it. Tony was plainly on a roll.

"I fear my anger had the better of me," Thor admitted.

Steve could imagine the lightning blasting, the hammer flying through the air so fast it was a blur, all Thor's terrible strength and power unleashed against those who threatened his lover, his friends, and was glad he had not been there. He might have felt compelled – to try – to stop Thor, even though he knew that, in the same circumstances, he would have had no compunctions about killing.

It was another shameful thought.

"Bodies?" Tony was asking sharply, without looking up, his fingers dancing across the StarkPad's screen.

"Nothing left by the lightning," Thor said.

"Solves one problem. What about the portal?"

"Secure. Selvig shut it down. Though I do not know how he knew how to do this thing—"

"Hey, he's a portal whisperer. And I may have given him a few clues. Pathetic ones, but clues none the less. Meanwhile, all of you need to get out of there ASAP."

"Which is the reason I called you," Thor said. "Jane and Selvig will not leave their equipment. I cannot both protect them and move them and it to safety."

There was a mutter of background protest at Thor's end, but god and man both ignored it.

"Stay with them. Get the gear dismantled and everything packed. But while you're doing that, get Doctor Selvig to upload everything he knows about the portal mechanism to my servers via satellite. He has the necessary access. As for getting you out of there, there'll be half a dozen trucks entering your site separately within two hours. Take the third to arrive and head north until you're sure you aren't being followed, then turn west. I'll be in touch. I'm counting on you to protect your people, Thor."

"You can be assured of that, my friend. But, indeed, our enemies grow bolder."

"Think they'll send Queen Witchy against you?"

"I suspect she is too busy trying to retrieve the Norn Stone," Thor said. "She almost certainly believes you dead, and therefore that the secret of her presence on Midgard is safe."

"Hope you're right. Take care, buddy."

"I am always careful, particularly to make sure my enemies are no longer... able to be enemies," Thor replied, with no emotion in his voice. "I suggest you and the good Captain do the same."

Even though Thor had not physically been there, without his voice the room seemed empty. Tony was still working on the StarkPad, brows drawn together in concentration, and Steve wasn't sure whether he was doing something important or simply avoiding a confrontation. He hoped it was the latter, because he could not let this rest. "So, Asgardian witch," he said. "Who does not know that you 'still live'."

"Yeah. She's an old enemy of Thor's. Apparently Loki told everyone in Asgard that she was dead," Tony said, with only a quick, furtive glance at Steve. "I do worry about their judgement sometimes. Hubris. Or does that only affect Greeks?"

Steve ignored this as simple distraction, folded his arms and gave Tony the benefit of his best Captain America glare. "So she's still alive. Why does she think you aren't?"

Tony was unfazed, his eyes still on the tablet, fingers flying over virtual keys. "I sank her most potent weapon, she sank me in return," he said offhandedly. "But she was already in flight and didn't stop to make sure. We both got away. Pretty much a draw."

Steve ignored that as a patent lie. "And you weren't going to tell me, were you? That you tackled an Asgardian—

"I didn't have a choice about it!" Tony was finally on the defensive.

"Or that you almost _died_ when the ARC reactor failed."

Now Tony did look at him properly. "I knew you were going to freak out," he said. "And you did."

Steve fought to control his breathing. "I think I had a right to be angry," he said. "In the garage, you brushed me off," he went on, knowing he sounded petulant and not caring much in the tumult of his feelings. "When I got out of that car... seeing you alive... all I wanted to do was go to you. I'd been... worried."

"Yeah. Me too."

And, dammit, Steve didn't know what Tony was agreeing with.

_All of it?_

Steve was reminded, not for the first time, that it was only a few days since he himself had returned from Asgard.

_Tony knows what it's like to think I'm dead. To know I'm dead._

But he couldn't bring that up right now, or maybe ever. Instead, he chose a tactical retreat using another, much more minor grievance. "You said you weren't going to keep... us... a secret from our friends. I thought you'd maybe changed your mind."

_About me. About us. Maybe you should._

"I hadn't," Tony said, "but you weren't thinking straight. Sure, a dime to a dollar, Jan knows, and she'll tell Hank. Thor – who knows and approves – wasn't there and neither were Bruce and Betty, who'll be cool, anyway. Barton and Romanoff will take it in stride. T'Challa – who knows what the cultural attitudes to homosexuality are in Wakanda, though he's an Avenger and a friend. But Danvers, Shuri and Lieutenant Storm? Trust them, casually, with gossip the Press would shell out thousands to publish. And at this critical time. Nope. Not gonna happen."

"Oh," Steve said.

"And there were things I needed to do. Things I still need to do."

"Tony, you can't even walk."

_And I did that to you._

"You don't get it, do you, Steve? One woman – admittedly probably an Asgardian witch – deactivated an ARC reactor with a word. How I survived is unimportant. We have dozens of big ARC reactors due to go live across the world, with new plants being built to meet expected demand. Unless I can find a way to neutralise her and her kind, that's a real threat, not just to my plans, but to everyone."

"Oh," Steve said again, feeling totally deflated. He'd misread everything, misread Tony. The remaining anger was draining away, leaving nothing but the guilt and shame. "And I... What I did to you— Christ, why are you still talking to me?"

"What?" Tony said, looking at him in surprise. "Is that really bothering you?" He put the tablet to one side and held out his arms. "C'me here."

_I shouldn't,_ Steve thought, even as he shifted into the embrace, burying his face against Tony's shoulder. "I wasn't just angry. I lost control," he admitted. "I can't afford to lose control. I hurt you. I could have seriously injured you – or even killed you."

"You wouldn't do that. It was just sex," Tony said. "You wanted it, I wanted it. God, I wanted it. I _begged_ you for it. It was just sex," he repeated.

Steve flinched.

Tony chuckled. "Jarvis, make a note: Steve enjoys rough sex but feels guilty afterwards. So, remind me to go no further than role play scenarios, with maybe just a little light bondage."

"Pardon?" Steve was sure he must have misheard.

"Me tied to the bedstead," Tony elaborated. "All laid out for you on the mattress. We don't actually have any bedsteads but I'm sure we can get one somewhere. All brass shafts and balls..."

"Tony!" Steve was trying for outrage, but was actually caught between amusement and arousal.

"Better," Tony said, and kissed him.

After a while, Steve said, "I wanted... the first time I did that, to be perfect for you, the way you made it perfect for me."

"Oh, we can both do better," Tony said, "but that was pretty damn good. Remember what I said about 'No'? I am certain that if I'd said 'No' you would have stopped. I didn't."

Steve wished with all his heart that he could believe him. "I hurt you," he said again.

"If the pain had interfered with the pleasure, I would have definitely said 'No.' Look, Steve, sex – sexual relationships – are about negotiation. It isn't fair on you that I know exactly what I want while you're still trying things out, but that's why it's so important to let me know when you're... uncomfortable. I can't read your mind, babe, though I can make guesses from your body language—"

"Sir," Jarvis interrupted. "Ms Van Dyne is calling your cell. Which you left in the workshop. She seems agitated. Doctor Pym is even more agitated. He is searching for you."

"Put Jan on," Tony said.

"Through now, sir."

"Tony?" Jan's voice said.

"Yeah."

"Well, that's a relief. I've been keeping a lid on Hank for what seems like years. He's wild to tell you his latest findings but he can't find you and Jarvis won't help, so now he thinks you've been kidnapped or have taken off in the Iron Man suit somewhere. Jarvis says not, and I don't think he lies directly, so I presume you're with Steve. Probably in his quarters. I have to tell Hank that before he calls the cops or demands we fly to Malibu. So, boys, if you aren't decent I suggest you remedy that in the next few minutes, because we'll be heading your way."

Even as Steve scrambled off the bed, Tony, who had made no move, said, "I take it this is important, Jan. And private."

"Yes, definitely, and possibly – that's why Hank wants to talk to you. I don't think he'll object to Steve."

"No one in their right mind objects to Steve," Tony said, with a theatrical leer at the man in question. "And, yes, you're right about our location. Warn Hank, Jan. He can be kinda blind when it comes to his friends. And he's not as nosy as you."

"I love you too, sweetie," Jan said. "See you in a few."

 

Tony watched with obvious amusement as Steve scrambled into jeans and tee. He showed no sign of moving even when Steve paused, on one foot, to glare at him. 

"Are you just going to sit there naked?" Steve demanded.

"Yes. What I am not doing is getting up and limping around in front of Jan and Hank, thereby confirming their worst suspicions about our sex lives. If you're worried about either of them ogling my chest when you're in the room wearing clothes that give spandex a run for their money..." Tony shook his head, his expression sad, though his lips were twitching. "Well, you're wrong. But you can pass me one of your T-shirts. Considering how tight they are on you they should fit me perfectly. I'm much more worried about talking to Hank without any caffeine intake."

"I'll get you your darn coffee," Steve snapped. He reached into his T-shirt drawer, pulled out the first one that came to hand, threw it at Tony's head, so it hid his widening grin, then fled to the kitchenette.

Unfortunately, just as he started the machine there was a perfunctory knock on the door and Jan breezed in, Hank trailing – a little reluctantly, to judge by his expression – in her wake. He caught Steve's eye and pulled an apologetic face as Jan, grinning even more widely than Tony, headed unerringly for the bedroom.

Perforce, Steve and Hank followed.

By the time they were through the door, Jan was in the process of seating herself on the bed. She looked from Tony to Steve and said, brightly, "Been celebrating, boys? So were we."

"I've been working," Tony said. "I gather Hank's been doing the same."

Hank, who had been looking as if he were about to burst in an effort to suppress words that Steve feared would condemn him and Tony, suddenly let them flow. "Got interrupted yesterday. Jarvis insisted, and everyone else had disappeared. Didn't want to upset King T'Challa, either, as he controls vibranium, so I guess you want to keep him sweet." He stopped and added, in a very different tone: "You look pretty beat up, Tony."

Steve hoped Hank didn't notice his own involuntary wince.

"Yeah, well, there was a hurricane and some super-villainy," Tony said, with a shrug. "Fill you in later. Meanwhile, what have you got, Hank? Give."

"Actually, you were the one who set me on the right track, Tony. Way back when, you suggested that the Chitauri themselves might be weaponry. The so-called Leviathans have far more processing power – more brain, in layman's terms, though the semi-organic silicon 'neurones' are spread throughout its body – than is needed to control that body. They receive and broadcast both information and power – don't ask me how, but that is what they seem to do.

"Then we were interrupted by that Wakandan business and it took me a while to retrieve the storage media and get all our data unloaded and accessible. But we'd left all our samples behind in Oklahoma. Getting my hands on an actual Chitauri body was difficult and kinda illegal, but eventually Jarvis located and purchased one for me on the black market. Jan paid for it," he added, with an apologetic look at his partner.

"I'll reimburse her then," Tony said, with a wink at Jan. "So I take it that that was why you locked yourself away in the lab while we were all out Avengering. I suspect you were more productive. Go on."

"The Chitauri themselves are the same mixture of mechanical and semi-living tissue as the Leviathans, right down to their not-exactly-cellular structure. Probably to their equivalent of DNA, if I could find it. Which I can't. I presume they are neuter, just like the Leviathans, because they have no trace of reproductive organs. If anything, they appear to have been, well, built... or maybe _grown_. I suspect both. Nor do they have digestive organs. Instead, they can input energy, including broadcast energy."

Tony nodded agreement. "From the Leviathans."

"Yes, or more likely relayed by them."

"The latter. Because they died when I blew up their home base."

"Not when the portal closed?"

"No," Steve said. "The Leviathans crash-landed and the Chitauri troops collapsed before I gave the order to close the portal – it was how we knew Tony – Iron Man – had succeeded."

"And speaking of portals," Tony said, the hologram displays swirling around his hands, "Selvig's started uploading his work on those pesky portable quantum-bridges. Hey, looks like Foster's had some input too. She thinks they're more closely related to the sort of Einstein-Rosen Bridge used by the Asgardians. Which, you know, would make sense if whoever created it was working with rogue Asgardians – or Norns, whatever."

"Norns? What the hell is a Norn?" Hank asked, with a touching air of bewilderment that Steve could empathise with completely, for all that he had actually spent time in Asgard.

"Don't ask me," Tony said. "All I know is, I had bruising encounter with their Queen." He waved a hand vaguely across his face and torso, which Steve suddenly noticed was covered by a tee that announced 'Snark Program Engaged'. He hadn't known he owned such a thing but it wasn't the first T-shirt to mysteriously appear amid his clothing, and Tony had a nerve to complain about how tightly they fitted.

The probable culprit was frowning at the tablet. "This is complicated stuff. I wish Bruce was here."

"I'll help all I can," Hank said, "but it isn't my thing, either. You're the synthesist, Tony, and you have the math and physics background."

"Yeah. Well, I need to finish downloading this – so will either Jan or Steve fill me in right now on what the pair of you were up to with Danvers and Storm yesterday?"

"Jan can start," Steve said. "I'll get the coffee. We're all going to need it."

 

Tony leaned back against the pillows he had propped against the padded bedhead, and rotated his head and shoulders, pulling a face at the crack of bones in his neck. He stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the dance of shiny indistinct afterimages. Jan had retrieved one of his highly upgraded personal tablets from his workshop, and Steve a pair of reading glasses from his bedroom, which had made things easier, but he was suffering from information overload. Some of the jigsaw pieces seemed to be slotting together, but not enough to make sense of the whole picture.

At least he knew where all his motley crew, Avengers and not-Avengers and some, like Hank, he wasn't sure about, were or what they were up to. Colonel Danvers had asked permission to phone the Secretary of the Air Force and had left the tower, in company with Natasha, to buy a cheap pay as you go cell, which she would discard after she had briefed him. Meanwhile, Clint had taken Lieutenant Storm under his wing (though it was a combination that made Tony distinctly uneasy.) They were in the shooting gallery, and Storm was showing himself more than capable with a gun and grimly determined to learn with a bow and arrow.

Hank and Jan were in what had been Bruce's lab, and in constant touch with Jarvis.

Absently, he reached down to stroke Steve's hair. Having his lover's heavy weight and warmth coiled against his side was distracting, but not as distracting as it would have been if he had been out of Tony's sight.

It had been easier than he had expected to get Steve to sleep. A little exaggeration of a necessary limp had had him insisting on helping Tony into the bathroom without him having to ask. (That he had already made use of it and treated his various injuries while Steve and Jan had been preparing lunch up in the Penthouse kitchen was something he didn't need to mention.) Yanking a fully-clothed Steve into the shower with him had produced language that had him tut-tutting with glee. And Steve's response to his laughter: _"I was in the army, damn it, Tony!"_ just made him laugh harder.

They had both ended up naked, and the mutual masturbation session that followed had been satisfactory.

Highly.

So was the fact that Steve had been asleep beside him for a while. Yesterday must have exhausted him more than he would admit. He wasn't healing half as quickly as he pretended.

But when Betty contacted them – and he was sure she would contact them because she was one smart lady – he knew that both of them would go barrelling to the rescue. All the Avengers would, to rescue one of their own. Besides, he needed Bruce and had a feeling he was going to need the Hulk sooner rather than later.

_Pity we don't have someone undercover looking for Rhodey's location. Or even a single clue._

_Hey, wait._

Tony poked Steve gently in the biceps. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. Got a question for you."

"Huh? What?" Steve blinked sleepily at him. His expression moved from puzzlement to a slow smile to open adoration. "Hi."

"Hi yourself, babe."

"I fell asleep," Steve grumbled. "Sorry."

"You need your sleep," Tony said. "Don't fuss about it. A few more days and you'll be fighting fit."

"I am fighting fit."

"Yeah. Sure. Well, right now, I want you to do nothing more than put that enhanced memory to the test again."

"Right." Steve sat up and assumed an alert expression.

"Why, exactly, was Danvers at the Malibu house? Jan said she was looking for me. Why?"

Steve frowned. "Because she thought you'd seen Rhodes."

"Why would she think that?"

"Because War Machine had been spotted close by."

"What? But— Her exact words, Steve."

Steve's eyes were a little unfocused as he frowned into the distance, staring at the wall. "She said, 'War Machine was spotted over the coast twenty miles from here four days ago.' Five days now," Steve added. "She didn't say who spotted War Machine or how she knew about it."

"She doesn't need to. Jay, check on a Twitter hashtag called 'herospot' for sightings of the War Machine armour in the hours before we were attacked. See if there are similar hashtags and check them too. Also, Facebook. There are bound to be dozens of pages tracking superheroes. See if you can plot War Machine's path and trace it back to source."

"Doesn't the War Machine armour have a stealth mode?" Steve asked.

"Yep, though I hadn't installed the latest version. And I'm hoping it was one of the things Rhodey kept quiet about."

"He's your friend and loyal to you, Tony," Steve said. "He knows what that tech could be used for, and how much you'd hate that. He may be torn, but he won't betray you."

"How the hell do you know? You've never met him."

"Pepper said so. On this, I trust Pepper absolutely."

Tony couldn't argue with that, much as he wanted to. Instead, he moved on. "Even if Jarvis can get an indication of where they were keeping the War Machine armour it doesn't mean that Rhodey's there, or even that he's still alive," he said. He shook his head. "I want to go looking for him, Steve."

He heard Steve's intake of breath and reached to take his hand.

Steve said, "Not on your own. Maybe we could—"

"No. I can't. We can't. You don't understand. Something big is building, Steve. You know it, and I know it. But there's just too much data, too many possibilities."

Steve nodded. "Such as?" he asked, encouragingly. 

"Well, you're the strategist. What would have been the result if Sandro had actually hit the mainland?"

"You mean apart from billions more dollars worth of damage and thousands killed or made homeless?"

"Yeah, apart from that. Sandro was heading for the coast and gaining in strength. It could have devastated cities from Virginia to Maine."

"New York," Steve said. "Philadelphia. Washington. Boston. Airports closed. Planes grounded. Power out. Water and sewerage out. All emergency services struggling to cope. National Guard called in. Military mobilisation."

"Chaos," Tony said. "It's even possible the Presidential elections might have to be postponed – for the first time ever – except if the unaffected States didn't agree, which they wouldn't. Either way, there could be riots. Some reputations would be ruined. And one or both Presidential candidates might not have made it through the hurricane itself. Whether it killed them or not."

Steve's hand had tightened around his. "You can't suspect a coup, Tony. Not here. Not in the States."

Tony looked into his eyes. He said: "Don't you?"

Steve shook his head, then, unexpectedly, burst into bitter laughter. "I'm just a kid from Brooklyn who wanted to fight for my country. Erskine never told me that I'd end up in the twenty-first century in bed with my lover seriously talking about the danger of a take-over of the US government."

"Just lucky, I guess. The lover bit, I mean. And we've averted that possibility for now, by turning Sandro. But there's more at stake than the government of the United States, and you know it as well as I do. If, as a last resort, I have to let that fall to save the world, then I will."

Steve's face twisted in a bitter grimace. "No, it's lucky I'm not calling myself Captain America anymore. Isn't it?" He took several deep breaths, then looked up into Tony's eyes. "If it came to that, I'd back you – but I trust you – trust us – not to let it happen.

Tony lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed Steve's knuckles. "No, I trust you not to let me let it happen. And I might be imagining the whole thing."

Steve drew Tony's hand to his own lips, then said, "Sweetheart, what you need is to stop trying to run everything and give yourself time to think.”

Tony took a breath to argue, then let it out slowly. Maybe Steve was right and he was going to need time to draw conclusions from this mass – mess – of data.

Steve's intense stare faded into a gentle smile. "Jarvis," he said, "please route all calls, texts and e-mails away from Tony. Ms Potts can deal with Stark Industries but I'll take any that refer to the Avengers, or SHIELD." He looked directly into Tony's eyes... and hesitated. "That is, if you trust me—"

"Implicitly," Tony said, on instinct, and then it was his turn to pause, momentarily, pushing aside intrusive memories of his betrayed trust in Pepper, Rhodey... Obie. "Confirmed, Jay," he said. "But I will take any calls about Stark Energy or Special Projects. Refer them to me immediately. And I'll take any calls from Pepper or Marilyn – and a call from Bruce or Betty Ross overrides everything." He raised an eyebrow at Steve. "Deal?"

"Deal," Steve agreed, and leaned in to kiss him fleetingly. "I'll set up in the living room. Call me if you need anything."

Tony grunted and returned to his tablet.

 

Tony strode into the conference room, ignoring residual pain and an incipient headache and made his way to the head of the table – or what passed for the head of an oval table.

_Knights of the Oval Table? Not much of a ring to it._

Steve, on the other hand, was leaning against the wall beside the door, just as Thor had done the day before. Even the clothes and the posture were similar. Thor had been slightly more intimidating, though, if only because of the hammer.

He wished Thor was here, even if only for a conference call, but an open line was too dangerous.

Clint raised an eyebrow at Steve as he took a chair beside John Storm and opposite Natasha, and he was frowning as he looked from him to Tony and back again.

Once again, Tony felt a stab of suspicion of an ex-SHIELD agent.

"Everyone know each other?" he asked breezily, seating himself with a studied casualness, though in truth he didn't hurt as much as he'd expected. "Good. We'll start with you, Danvers. Did you have a nice chat with the Air Force secretary?"

"Yeah," Danvers said, "and the Black Widow here heard every word. At my request, I might add. I need you to trust me, Stark. The Secretary's _scared_. He says he's become aware of secret briefings between the Generals and the CSAF -- sorry, the Air Force Chief of Staff to you non military types – is out of town and he can't locate him. Which is why, I guess, he didn't want details – just gave me carte blanche to do what I have to do.

"In addition, he told me Washington's buzzing with rumours. Hurricanes don't just come to a grinding halt for hours, then suddenly change course and head off into the Atlantic, where they fizzle out. Add in the reports of both Thor and Iron Man seen separately heading into the storm—"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me _everyone_ follows #herospot on Twitter."

"Well, I don't know anyone who doesn't," Lieutenant Storm said brightly.

"And then there's you, Lieutenant." Tony turned to look straight into the young man's eyes. Just a couple of shades lighter blue than Steve's, he noted absently. "Someone in the Air Force must have facilitated your kidnapping, but that doesn't mean they ordered it. You were taken by the mercenaries who also took Shuri, who tried to take over Wakanda, who have the Hulk, and who have tried to kill me and the Captain too many times. They have technology that marks them out. We thought that your abduction might have something to do with the theft of your sister's DNA sample, but that seems to be unrelated. So the question is, why? And who are these guys working for this time?"

"You got me," Storm said.

Steve straightened his eyes on Storm. "You were going to fly co-pilot on the new orbiter. Where was that going to be launched?"

_Uh?_

"What new orbiter?" Tony demanded, overriding Lt Storm's, "The Cape."

"So it's really not Stark tech?" Danvers said.

_What the fuck?_

"I wasn't even asked," Tony said plaintively. "But I really would like to know who built it. Because NASA certainly didn't. And there hasn't been a squeak out of Boeing or Lockheed, or Airbus or even ISRO – and no one else could even... Tell me it isn't Hammer, because, boy, you are better off out of it if Justin had anything to do with it."

Storm was watching him with amusement. "They aren't telling us fly-boys who built it, either, Mr Stark. It's all on the QT."

"Danvers?" Tony lifted an eyebrow at her.

"I didn't find out it was real until I started looking for Lieutenant Storm. Before then it was just rumour."

"Seems like I'm out of the loop," Tony said. "I need to make some calls, because this is important. Damn it, I need Rhodey."

"So do I," Danvers said. "But I guess we both have to make do with each other."

Tony wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Do you wish me to investigate?" Jarvis asked.

The answer to that was far simpler. "Yes. Do that. Got anything on the Michael Moorcock connection? Or the Eternal Champ—?"

"Wait," Storm interrupted. "What Moorcock connection?"

"Some of the enemy have a penchant for using Moorcock references," Tony explained. "Why? Does it mean something to you?"

"I don't know," Storm said. "I guess not. But you were asking about Sue, and she gave me those books. Ben – Major Ben Grimm – introduced her to them. Reed didn't think much of them, though."

"So it keeps coming back to your sister, Grimm, Richards and that damn backyard rocket that killed them."

"It wasn't a rocket," Storm protested.

"Tony," Steve said. "Didn't you say that it was a theoretical paper of Richards that put you on to repulsor tech?"

Tony shrugged. "I don't think it's relevant. We all stand on the shoulders of giants, and Richards would have been a giant in theoretical physics, had he lived."

"Could be another part of the puzzle," Steve suggested.

"If so, I don't know where it fits yet." Tony waved a hand to dismiss that and let his eyes roam round the table, focusing for a moment on each face, gathering their attention. "So, what do we actually know about what we're up against? Well, on the surface, it looks like our major problem is a conspiracy to gain control of the US government. Its members include White House staffers, members of the Joint Chiefs, senior officers at the Pentagon, members of Congress, and, I'm sure, vested financial and industrial interests. They have hired what appears on the surface to be a mercenary organisation with advanced tech calling themselves, among other things, the 'Eternal Champions'.

"While the internal US conspiracy poses the most immediate threat and are more easily identifiable – thanks mainly to Hawkeye and the Widow – I believe the mercenary group to be far more dangerous. They have tech none of us completely understand, they almost certainly have possession two of the Chitauri war machines downed in the Battle of New Y—"

"My contacts tell me Fury was sure you had something to do with that," Clint said.

"I had possession of one of them," Tony said. "Or rather, Bruce, Jan and Hank did."

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "The Pym particles."

Tony nodded. "Yes. But the mercenary group have a quantum bridge – a teleportation portal. It seems to me highly likely that this was used to steal at least two of the so-called 'leviathans'. God only knows what they intend to do with them.

"Worse, among them they have Asgardians, with powerful tech." Tony winced. "I guess that if magic is science we don't understand, what they have is magic. There could even be other alien involvement. If so, we are definitely not ready. And we're vulnerable here. The tower's an obvious target. We need to move."

"Oklahoma?" Hank suggested – the first word he had spoken since he had entered the room.

Tony shook his head. "Nope. That may be compromised. Besides, Thor and his group are out west. By what may nor may not be coincidence, that's the way that the kidnappers of Lieutenant Storm and Princess Shuri were taking them, though their final destination probably wasn't in the States. The War Machine armour attacked me and Cap in Southern California, and was tracked by sharp-eyed fans coming from the North along the coast."

"And you took down that gamma-ray emitting monster up in Seattle," Steve said.

"Definitely not a coincidence," Tony agreed. "Though I think Thunderbolt Ross may have something to do with that. From what I know of him, he's obsessed with the Hulk and the whole super-soldier business, but I honestly think he's too much of a patriot to be involved in the potential coup. However, the Eternal Champions – no, fuck it, I'm not going to dignify them with that name – the... the Moorcock Mob have been happily trying to sell the Hulk to him and would have sold Cap if they'd gotten the chance." 

"They were going to sell his dead body," Jan confirmed, as grim as Tony had ever seen her.

_If Thor hadn't arrived, Steve wouldn't have been the only one who died._

Tony shook himself. "We need transport, and our scientists need facilities. With your agreement, we'll take my plane out from JFK and head for the Stark facilities in Seattle. As a base it's not going to be luxurious, but it's secure, and communications, computer and transport facilities are better than we have here."

_Also somewhere I may need to defend, and not only from the Moorcock Mafia._

"Hank, I'll need you there. Danvers, I take it you're in?"

She nodded.

"Good. Lieutenant, you can come with us, stay here, or I can set you up with a temporary new identity—"

"If you think I'm gonna pass up the chance to work with the Avengers, you aren't half as smart as your rep."

"I'm at least three times as smart as my rep," Tony told him. "We take off in four hours."

 

As the meeting broke up, Natasha drew Tony aside. "You need someone in Washington, Stark. I'm sure you're right about the conspiracy, but we have no idea how far it goes. According to the polls, the nominees are running neck and neck. It's impossible to tell which one, if either, has anything to gain by steering Sandro into the most heavily built-up area in the USA and its financial heart."

"It would hurt the incumbent more," Tony said. "Even if they didn't assassinate her."

"Your opinion. We need evidence. Let me go in."

"No. I have another candidate for that." 

"Not you," Steve said from behind him in that Captain America voice that brooked no argument.

Tony hated lying to Steve. But...

"Not me. I'm the only reason you get to land at Seattle or access to the Stark Special Projects facility," Tony said easily. "I'll be in the suit, guarding all of you from attack by our enemies – whoever they turn out to be."

 

The Iron Man armour was travelling high above the plane carrying the Avengers to Seattle, its sensors continually scanning for a threat. Only Tony, though, knew the suit was empty, save for its own Jarvis download. He himself was in the upgraded stealth armour, heading not for Seattle but for DC. Both armours were a lot faster than any jet currently in the skies, commercial, private or military so Tony knew he could catch up with the plane carrying the Avengers and hangers-on and even swap armours before they reached their destination.

He'd better be able to, because if Steve found out what he was doing right now he was going to throw the worst temper tantrum since Iron Man had locked horns with Thor over the possession of Loki.

It was risky, of course, it was, but not perhaps as risky for him as it would have been for any other member of the Avengers, with the possible exception of Jan. But Hank was currently not letting her out of his sight; which was going to get him into so much trouble...

Tony's priority task was to discover if they were actually fighting the Presidential incumbent, the opposition nominee or whether both were innocent victims – and there was one place where he might learn just that.

Besides, this was personal.

The President was someone he had known well, during the time she had chaired the House Armed Services Committee (and the Senate equivalent, after she and her husband had become the first husband and wife to be elected to serve overlapping terms for any state.) By the time her husband had died of a heart attack she had become the Senate Minority Leader, and, though she had served out her term, his loss seemed to destroy her enthusiasm for Congress. Instead, within six months of leaving the Senate, she was Secretary of Defense.

A compromise candidate after the two front-runners for her party's Presidential nomination had cut each other's throats by digging too much dirt on each other, she had, to everyone's surprise including her own, been elected by a small majority in the Electoral College (though her majority in the popular vote had been larger.)

This election year, though, she was trending high on social media, while the polls, though inconsistent, called the result close.

Tony liked her as much as he had ever liked any politician.

Now, Iron Man dropped vertically from an altitude of ten thousand feet onto the White House roof, thereby passing the outer ring of Secret Service guard posts. The weather was being co-operative, with a low ceiling of grey cloud that was easy for the camouflage to mimic. That, at least, protected him from anyone hoping to report on #herospot. He hoped. He was more confident in the armour's ability to confuse the radar, helped by Jarvis's hacking of the White House security systems as they approached.

He wondered if he should offer to upgrade these, given the number of backdoors and general hole-iness his AI had discovered.

According to the President's schedule, she had returned to the White House about four hours ago. Despite the late hour she was probably still working. 

There was no heat signature in the Oval office. So the President was probably in the family residence on the second floor. Unless she was closeted with her campaign staff. Well, he'd see.

The second floor of the Executive Residence had two human heat signatures. The one in the East Sitting Hall he presumed to be the President's. The other was in one of the bedrooms. If that was who he thought it was, he might be able to get in without lasering any locks.

He hovered outside the bedroom window, his sensors creating a picture of the room beyond the heavy drapes. The occupant was sitting cross-legged on the bed, balancing a laptop on her – he was sure who it was now – knees.

It was the work of a few moments for Jarvis to put a message on the laptop screen.

Tony saw the glowing figure start, then put the laptop aside, bounce off the bed, and pause to switch off the main lighting, so that only a bedside lamp was glowing.

_She was bright. She'd been bright at eight._

The figure made its way to the window, where it hesitated, then pulled one of the drapes a few inches to one side and peered out.

It was a restricted view but the face was the one he had expected, one which had stared at him from magazine covers and computer screens for the last half a dozen years, but even without the publicity he would have had no trouble recognising the pre-teen who had once sneaked into one of his supercars in the vivacious, twenty-year old brunette. 

He opened the faceplate on the armour.

The young woman grinned at him, threw the drapes wide, disconnected the alarm system with an ease that screamed both long practice and electronic expertise, and opened the window.

"Uncle Tony! Wow! Black's the new gold— no, wait is that camouflage? Cool."

"Hi, Julia. Is your Mom in? I sorta need to talk to her."

"Yeah. She's dealing with her personal e-mails."

Which at least explained why she was alone. Which was... convenient.

Tony smiled his most winning smile at Julia, wriggled an eyebrow, and said, "Let me in?"

"You bet. Can I come and visit with you in Avengers tower? And will you introduce me to the rest of the Avengers?"

"Yes and yes. Though not right at this moment, kiddo."

"Well, obviously. But before Christmas, right?"

"Right," Tony agreed. After all, if they hadn't wrapped this up by Christmas they might as well be dead – probably would be.

"Awesome."

Tony had other words for it.

 

Julia opened the door to the East Sitting Hall and announced, loudly, "Mom, you have a visitor." She was making an obvious attempt to maintain a disinterested and dignified air while also being full of glee at her own importance.

The woman seated in an expensive and modern executive chair that was so out of place behind the huge Victorian mahogany desk had no such difficulty in maintaining her dignity as she took off her reading glasses and frowned at them both.

"Madam President," Iron Man greeted her.

"Mr Stark. How did you get past security?" She did not, though, reach for any of the panic buttons that Tony knew were within easy reach.

He spread his hands. "Well, y'know, they might be watching tonight's game and not the skies. And it used to be Tony."

"A long time ago. In very different circumstances. Are you here to kill me?"

"Mom!" Julia protested.

"Go to your room, young lady. We'll have words later."

Julia stuck her tongue out at her mother, grinned at Tony, and made her exit, though Tony was pretty sure her ear would be pressed against the door within moments.

"You haven't answered my question," the President pointed out, as she rose and made her way over to the door, silent on stockinged feet. "Are you here to kill me?"

"No," Tony replied, watching in fascination as one of the most powerful people in the world opened the door at speed, peered out and looked to left and right, then relaxed and closed the door, turning to face Tony. "Is there any reason I should be?" he asked. "Or do you expect treachery from everyone nowadays?"

Her eyes only flicked away from his for a moment, but it was enough to give her away "Perhaps. I wonder if you have any idea how many times I have been warned not to trust you."

"Oh, I think I do. Maybe even by people you do trust. But it didn't stop you accepting campaign donations from me and SI, did it?" Tony retorted.

And got the grin he was hoping for, "Nothing stops me accepting those, Stark. But you used to be a patriot. Now you're selling technology that could give the US a huge technical and economic advantage to our rivals while destroying huge swathes of our economic base."

"I am a patriot," Tony said. "But the world changed with the Chitauri invasion, Madam President. It's your job to preserve and protect the United States – and lead the free world – but I – the Avengers – can't afford that bias any longer. Stark Energy is providing a way to avert climate change before the world drowns under ice melt and the human race chokes on too much methane and CO2 and rots from cancer. I'm not going to pull back because it might damage Roxxon Oil's profits or, to be frank, put coal miners out of business when, even in the States, I'll be creating as many jobs as people are losing. I'm changing the world, and it needs to be done fast. Even now it might be too late."

"Like you privatised world peace?"

Tony shrugged, which was quite a feat in the armour. He was rather proud of the articulation. "I did okay. Call it a trial run."

"Virginia Potts indicated you were open to negotiation." 

Tony winced inwardly. "She speaks for StarkIndustries, not for me or StarkEnergy. Over which she no longer has any power or influence."

The President's eyebrows shot up at that. "I thought Potts and all things Stark were inseparable."

"So did I. Until I found she was working for Fury." 

"You regard Fury as a threat to the planet?" The President sounded curious rather than sceptical.

"No, just to my security." Tony was firm. "And I'm trying to understand the actions of yours. What incompetent allowed you to make an unscheduled return to the White House when it was right in the path of Hurricane Sandro?"

"No one 'allows' me to do anything, Stark. I made that choice."

Tony let his eyes widen. "Why, for God's sake? I can't think of anything that would make you take such a stupid risk..." Even as he spoke, Tony realised he was wrong. "Except your daughter. Damn it, Alison, I should have seen that."

The President shrugged. "She's legally an adult and she's learned how to shed her security whenever she feels like it. Normally, she tries not to worry me, but she won't follow orders when they’re relayed by certain key members of my staff."

"Maybe she's smart enough to work out who she should trust," Tony said.

_I wish I was._

"Then she's smarter than I am," the President said, her words far too closely aligned with Tony's thoughts, adding, abruptly, "I did try to check you out, but you proved... elusive."

Ah, she was testing him in her turn. Luckily, two and two suddenly made five. "Oh, Phil Coulson's old grandpappy. Glad he was one of yours," Tony said.

_Though that isn't proof that he has other masters._

"Julia trusts him, if that means anything to you," the President said, in more confirmation than Tony had expected. "As do I. He's ex-Army and ex-Secret Service and I've known him... well, a long time."

That was all very plausible, but... "The Black Widow reports he seems to have been more interested in Captain Rogers than me," Tony said.

"Captain Rogers – Captain America – whoever he is and whatever he's calling himself—"

"Don't you know?" Tony found that difficult to believe. "SHIELD certainly does – well, Fury does. Phil Coulson did. So did the WSC."

The President snorted. "Our – now ex – member of the WSC spun us a yarn that, according to Director Fury, he was the original Captain America frozen in Arctic ice for seventy years. Every scientist I've consulted says that's impossible, even for a super-soldier. No one has told the new delegate anything at all. Fury says that all the information on that subject has been wiped from his computer systems. As he can't prove anything, he's not making any statements, one way or another. Which seems damn suspicious, Stark."

Tony grinned. "So you're less credulous than Loki. Good. Do you really have objections to any actions Captain Rogers has taken? Any point at which he has not been the perfect moral superhero?"

There was a long pause. "Not that I know about," the President admitted.

"Then why bother about where he came from?"

"The super-soldier serum was a US creation—"

"Nope," Tony said, interrupting in his turn. "Created by a German scientist. You know as well as I do that Erskine wasn't his real name. And then there was the Red Skull, also a product of that serum."

"Your father—"

"Did what Dr Erskine told him," Tony said firmly. "Besides, you can own the serum, but not the men it might create. But the serum wasn't patented and if it had been the patent would have run out. And you couldn't claim a man recruited over seventy years ago was still in the army, though the Pentagon is trying. Which is hilarious because they don't even know if he's the same man, or, if he isn't, if the same serum was used on him."

"You know both," the President said.

"I know what Fury told me, and what Dad told me and, most importantly, what Captain Rogers told me. I also know that anyone who threatens him is going to have to go through me." He was watching the President closely for any change of expression, any hint that she had been told that Captain Rogers was dead, but saw no sign of surprise.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that. But I'm not concerned about Captain Rogers." There was the slightest stress on the 'I'.

Though Tony was now pretty sure she was in the clear, it was time to cast some more bait. "If you're not supporting the Pentagon over Cap, they may have turned elsewhere for help."

"Meaning?" It was a long time since Tony had faced that particular gimlet state.

"There's a mercenary group with advanced, possibly alien tech. They'll sell their services, tech they've stolen and people they've kidnapped to anyone with the cash. I think they've even supplied NASA's new orbiter, though I can't prove it, and I wouldn't fly in it for any money. They were controlling hurricane Sandro before Thor turned it away into the Atlantic."

He'd seen the sceptical look in the President's eyes all too often in the past. It spurred him into rushing on: "There's a cabal, most of them White House staffers, high-ranking officers in the Pentagon and members of Congress. If Sandro had swept up the east coast at strength five the election next Tuesday would have been handed to your opponent – if either of you were still alive to contest it. The cabal are your concern, Alison, but the people controlling the hurricane are mine. And they weren't human."

"Damn it, Tony—"

"Director Fury was right about one thing: the universe beyond Earth knows we're here, and that we're outgunned. The Avengers are all that stands between the human race and hostile beings with weapons in advance of our own, not to mention their allies on Earth. Yes, they have them; some of them Enhanced and some not human at all. Avengers business, which I should be taking care of right now."

"You're saying I have to trust you."

"The names of those the Avengers think are part of group planning a coup d'état here are now on Julia's laptop, which is more secure than yours. And she's been using yours to monitor what I've been saying," Tony said. "Trust us both, Alison."

A slightly distorted voice spoke from the laptop, "He's right, Mom."

"Oh, get out of here, Stark. I've got a lot of work to do."


	27. In the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers are on the move, and receive help from an unexpected quarter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been so, so long in arriving, folk. It got totally stuck at 2,000 words and refused to budge. I will try to do better.

Steve shifted restlessly in a seat that had somehow reclined into a real – if slightly narrow – bed. He couldn't complain that it wasn't comfortable because it was, like nearly everything associated with Tony, luxurious.

No, he was finding it difficult to sleep because there was no warm body beside him. How the heck had he gotten so addicted to Tony's presence in so short a time?

_Be honest, Rogers, you've been addicted to him most of the time you've been in this century._

Even if Tony hadn't been out beyond the fuselage, surfing the wind in the Iron Man suit – and maintaining strict radio silence – they couldn't have shared anything, really, not a fleeting kiss, a swift hug, even though Danvers was currently in the cockpit with Jan and Clint, because John Storm, not to mention Natasha and Hank, were still within view.

"You can tell Nat and Clint," Tony had said in the few minutes of privacy they managed to snatch before Tony climbed into the Iron Man suit and the rest of them departed for JFK airport. "Or you can let it ride and I'll break it to them when we get to Seattle."

"Then I'll leave it to your silver tongue," Steve had retorted in a mixture of irony and relief. "Though I can think of better uses—" He had been stopped in mid flow by one of those 'better uses' and they hadn't wasted the rest of their time together talking.

Perhaps that had been for the best. It was becoming more and more difficult not to tell Tony how much he loved – was in love with – him. But he'd promised to wait until Tony was ready... if he ever was. If there was any possilbity that declaration could signal a break-up, he had to remain silent because he was still nowhere near certain that Tony loved him back.

Giving up, he flung the quilt aside and rolled to his feet. Natasha looked up from the tablet she was reading and Steve mimed lifting something to his lips, raised his eyebrows and asked "Coffee?" wordlessly, because he didn't want to wake Hank or Lieutenant Storm.

_Or talk to Nat. If she's guessed about me and Tony I'd rather she kept it to herself._

However, Natasha lifted a glass half-full of a colourless liquid he suspected was vodka to show him she was fine, and shook her head.

Relieved, Steve went to make coffee.

 

He had just added cream to his coffee when he saw Jan making her way back through the cabin. She paused to lean over and check on Hank, whose face was buried in the pillow, then Lieutenant Storm, who was sleeping with his head flung back and his mouth open, before speaking a few words to Natasha, who jumped to her feet with every appearance of enthusiasm and made her way through the door into the cockpit.

"Coffee?" Steve asked, as Jan joined him.

"Please."

"What about the cockpit crew?"

"Loads of it on tap up there. Remember that this is Tony's plane and he has been known to fly it himself. But coffee isn't going to help you sleep."

"I'll sleep when we get to Seattle," Steve said.

"You do realise that Tony's probably sleeping in the armour? He said he was going to do that on the way back from Wakanda – though at that point he was hyper from some sort of stimulant King T'Challa had given him. Not personally, I mean, but authorised the local physicians to administer."

"Really?" Steve could hear the anger in his own voice, but it wasn't Jan's fault or even T'Challa's. "Tony didn't mention that when he briefed me about what happened while I was... in Asgard."

"He wouldn't, would he?" Jan's expression was sympathetic, but she said, "I wasn't going to but... Steve, Pepper spent over ten years trying to save Tony from himself and failed, totally, even when they were together. The only person who could exercise control over him, and even then only in subtle ways, was his mother. His relationship with his father was, well, complicated."

Steve shrugged. "Tell me about it. When I knew Howard he was much younger than Tony is now, and, on the surface, they were very alike. Below it," he shook his head. "I don't think I ever got below Howard's surface, but he came close to ruining my chances with Tony."

"Someone should have told you not to mention his name."

"Someone should have told all of us – all the Avengers – that. And a lot of other things. SHIELD edited the files they gave me to paint Bruce, Thor and particularly Tony in the worst possible light. I expect the ones Tony and Bruce got were carefully edited as—""

"Your personal escort calling," Iron Man's voice interrupted. "There's an unidentified contact below us."

"We see it, Iron Man," Natasha's voice replied.

"I'm going to investigate."

"Roger, Iron Man."

"And, Steve, if you're listening, no jumping out of the plane like you did on that pirate caper – you'll hit terminal velocity and I'm not kiddin' about the terminal. Iron Man out."

"Pirate caper?" Jan asked.

"About four months ago. We took down a Mexican criminal cartel which had decided to try a little sideline in piracy in Gulf of Mexico. Routine stuff and, despite what Tony says, I was perfectly safe. Cream? Sugar?"

"Neither." Jan cradled the mug in her hands. "Tony was totally devastated by your supposed death in Wakanda. Then, when he went ahead and broke up with Pepper – well, I was relieved I had a cast iron excuse to stick close to him. I was honestly scared he'd do something stupid. So I got him to visit Betty and dragged him into the business of Sue Storm's missing DNA sample. But then he took off for Malibu and I didn't have an excuse to follow him."

"So you made one," Steve said.

"Not exactly. Betty located her father, and we went in – and then Avengers' Tower didn't seem like a good place to run, which left Malibu and Tony. And we damn near didn't make it, except you were there and so plainly in love with Tony that I could have cheered."

Steve winced. "Is it that obvious?"

"Steve, darling, every time you look at him your face lights up, and when you lose his attention you have to get it right back. And Tony has it just as bad. And has for longer. Back in Oklahoma, when you said he didn't flirt with you – though I noticed he couldn't stop himself occasionally – I knew he must be worried that either you would take it seriously, or that Pepper would."

"Both, I guess. But Tony wouldn't have betrayed Pep with me, wouldn't have left her—"

"You are not to blame yourself for that break-up," Jan said firmly. "Remember that Tony thought you were dead. And he can be ruthless with what looks like betrayal."

"I know, I know. But Pepper probably isn't going to see it that way," Steve said. Her reaction was something he was not looking forward to. At all.

"That's for Tony to deal with, not you."

Steve looked suspiciously into her guileless brown eyes. "Aren't you going to warn me not to hurt him?"

"A shovel speech? Hardly. You're both adults. But I really want you both to be happy."

There was a silence as they drank their coffee. Steve, at least, was trying to put his thoughts in order. There was something he wanted to ask Jan, because asking Tony seemed fraught with peril on all sides. "Jan, there's something I don't understand. I'm— I'm gay. Maybe a little bit bi, because there was one woman, though I – we – never— Otherwise I've only ever wanted men, though back in the forties it was better not to act on that. But when... I wanted to know whether I had a chance with Tony, if ever he and Pepper split, I searched on line. There wasn't a hint that he was anything but totally straight. Then we... and it turned out he's bisexual and experienced."

"I'm not entirely surprised," Jan said. "He flirts with everyone, and we've eyed up both the male and female talent and rated them with marks out of ten at boring parties. He has to be careful about his image, though."

Steve's coffee exited through his nose as he choked on that sentence. " _Tony?_ Jesus – sorry for the blasphemy, Jan – but have you ever Googled him?"

Jan laughed. "There is one place Tony likes to be underestimated, and that's in business." She hesitated, then went on, much more seriously, "My Mom once said to me that until he turned eighteen, everything Tony did was an attempt to gain his father's attention, and everything he did after that was an attempt to piss him off. Apparently successfully."

"Tony was only twenty when his parents died."

"I think by then he was probably having too much fun to stop."

"Until Afghanistan."

"Until Afghanistan."

There was silence for a while, which was finally broken by Natasha's voice: "Iron Man, report your status."

"On my way back to you." Tony sounded a little harried, but there was no alarm in his voice. "Contact was just a two-seater prop on a night flight. I think I scared him out of his skin, but he was good enough not to crash his ride. He's far behind and far away now. I'm about to hand over to Jarvis and resume an attempt to sleep. Over and out."

 

The west coast was still in darkness as Iron Man, the suit blazing with repulsor light, led the jet in to land at the Stark-Seattle airfield. Below them, floodlit roads and runways ran for what seemed like miles between factories, hangars and office buildings, all lit up like a mini-Manhattan.

Steve had known that the facilities here were extensive, had even seen photographs and plans laid out on the computers back at the Tower, but the sheer scale of the reality once again brought home how much Tony was worth, not only in monetary terms. And how much else depended on him.

Yet he was continually putting his own life on the line.

Steve had spent the last six months or so terrified for Tony on his own behalf: he didn't need this new terror on behalf of, well, the rest of the world.

But it was there all the same.

When the aircraft touched down, Iron Man didn't. Instead, he continued to fly on above the taxiway, eventually leading them through the doors of a huge hangar standing wide and welcoming, light spilling out on the concrete.

As the aircraft came to a halt, Steve left Hank to Jan, but shook Lieutenant Storm's shoulder. "Wake up, Lieutenant, we've arrived."

Storm muttered something that sounded like, "Too early," but Steve persisted, hauling him to his feet and hustling him into the aisle.

"Not if you're still on Eastern Standard Time," Steve told him ruthlessly, steering the young man towards the door, where Danvers was waiting impatiently for it to finish opening.

They were right behind her as they started down the steps, but Lieutenant Storm stopped so abruptly that Steve almost ran him down. "Wow! What the hell is that?"

Steve peered over the top of his head. Storm was staring at an aircraft standing a few feet away – no, two aircraft, one behind the other. They resembled the aircraft used by SHIELD – quinjets, was it? – but were larger and sleeker, with the lines of a modern stealth bomber, though their wings were wider to accommodate to what looked like repulsor projectors.

Painted on its nose was an A overlapping a circle, its crossbar terminating in an arrowhead. The font was that of the A that had been left on Stark Tower at the end of the battle for Manhattan, that was still there as a symbol of the building's new purpose, a statement of intent.

Avengers.

No longer the Avengers Initiative, just the Avengers, which was how Tony always referred to them.

"Wow," Storm breathed. "What a beauty. God, I want to fly it."

"You'll have to line up behind me," Danvers said, from halfway down the steps.

"You've just flown four thousand miles," Iron Man's voice said. "And you're not checked out on them – not that they're difficult – but nope. Not now, anyway. Ah, there they are." A trio of SUVs with the Stark Energy logo on their sides came swinging in through the hangar doors and drew to a halt where Iron Man was standing. Robots were already unloading the luggage from the jet's hold.

"Hey! Hey!" Hank, who had been standing blinking sleepily, suddenly came awake. "Careful with those!" He hurried over to take care of his equipment himself, and Jan followed at his heels.

"Automated cars now, Stark?" Natasha raised a quizzical eyebrow. 

"Naturally," Iron Man replied. "In ten years there'll be nothing else on the road." The cars' passenger doors slid open. "The accommodation isn't up to that in the Tower," he went on as Steve and Clint slung the hand baggage into the back of the first SUV and Danvers, Storm, and Natasha climbed inside, "but there are beds, food and lots of hot water. It was an on-site hotel back in Dad's time, but we revamped it into apartments for visiting consultants, air force personnel and politicians. Stark Energy leases it from SI, but they currently don't need it. So... eat, sleep and we'll work out our next move when we're all refreshed."

Natasha looked hard at him, her hand on the still-open door. "And you're—?"

"I can be there before you, remember," Iron Man said cheerfully, the closing door cutting off his words as the SUV headed for the hanger doors. "Hank, are you all packed up? 

"Yeah." 

"Off you go then."

But Hank hesitated. "Steve...?"

"Tony'll give me a lift," Steve answered, with a smile he tried hard not to make sly.

Jan winked at him, and dragged Hank into the SUV.

Once they had gone, Steve turned to Iron Man – and damn it, the faceplate was still down. He inclined his head towards the two aircraft marked with the Avengers' symbol and raised an eyebrow.

"Well," Iron Man said, "as you still won't let me make you a suit, and I'm not sure I'd trust either of the assassination twins with one, or two, and Jan's flight isn't long distance, the team needed wings. So..."

"You didn't have those built overnight," Steve said. "Normally they take years of development— Why do I think you're grinning behind that faceplate, Stark?"

"I'm looking at you, Rogers. Would be kinda a natural reaction." Iron Man reached out and picked up the two bags that remained on the floor, one in each hand.

"Hey," Steve said, reaching out to grab them back.

Though, dammit, Tony in the armour was stronger than he was.

"This one, if you insist." Iron Man relinquished one of the bags, which was much heavier than Steve had expected. "It's yours, anyway."

"Mine?"

"Sure. New battle suit. This way." Iron Man inclined his head towards the unlit depths of the hangar. "I need to get out of this tin can and shower. You coming—? I shouldn't have said that, should I?" he added, as Steve burst out laughing.

"Nope. And the answer is: probably, if I get to shower with you," Steve answered, picking up his duffle, which he had carefully not loaded into the SUV. It occurred to him that he was getting to know Tony far too well. 

"You can wash my back," was the reply.

Steve found himself grinning. "Sounds good."

"Uhuh. I'm afraid I can't waste the energy for more than that, and you can't waste the time."

That sounded ominous. 

Had Tony actually slept at all in the armour on the way out here?

More dangerously, he plainly had a plan in mind – yet another thing he hadn't yet explained – but at least he had made it clear that Steve was a part of it.

Well, if he didn't give details within the next half hour, Steve resolved that he wouldn't allow him to leave the building.

 

In the depths of the hangar, Tony finally opened the faceplate to allow a retinal scan. The door the lock guarded opened into brightening lights, revealing what looked like a lounge area, with a big TV screen, comfortable seating, and gaming and drinks machines. It was, however, empty of any life save for a large fish tank, its inhabitants incurious about the new arrivals.

Tony stepped out of the armour. He looked tired and his clothing – dark slacks and T-shirt with a logo Steve did not recognise – was heavily creased. Overwhelmed by protectiveness, Steve drew him into a hug, burying his face in his hair. "Does this place have a bed?" he asked. "Because I think you need sleep more than a shower."

"If I was going to sleep I would've gone with the others. Better beds," Tony answered, lifting his head, but making no move to back out of Steve's embrace. "There's something I – we – have to do first."

Steve let out a breath of relief: Tony was actually going to tell him. "So what is it?" he asked, trying to keep even a hint of accusation out of his voice. "C'mon, Tony, you've obviously been sitting on something. Now give." 

Tony shrugged within Steve's grip. "I thought you'd have realised that we have to pick up Thor and his people. Every minute they're on the road they're in danger." He tried to step back, but Steve wouldn't let him. 

"Is that all of it? Why we're here? Really? I'm not stupid, Tony. Aren't you going to tell me the rest of it?"

Tony said nothing.

That hurt, but Steve refused to let it show. God only knew, Tony had been betrayed by enough people over the last couple of years: it was no wonder he was wary of giving complete trust, even to his team, to his lover.

But there had been Pepper.

Steve chose his words carefully: "I sometimes wonder what would have happened to me if you hadn't made that offer, the night of the Battle of New York. Or if you hadn't dragged me back when I tried to take off, only the guy with the ornithopter—"

"—pterathopter—" Tony corrected, but he too was wary.

"Got in the way."

"You would've been okay.”

"Not sure," Steve mumbled into Tony's neck. He raised his head to look into warm brown eyes. Surprisingly, what occurred to him at that moment was that the reason Tony had given all his suits glowing demon eyes was that no one could have been scared by his own. "I had no one," he said, "nowhere to go, no place in this century, just the expectations of Captain America hanging over me... Now I'm not Captain America and freer for it. I've got a place, a home, and friends here and in Asgard and Wakanda. And you. Most importantly, you."

"All because I didn't trust Fury with the Avengers," Tony pointed out.

"All because you trusted me," Steve said, and left the "Why not now?" unspoken.

Tony must have heard it anyway, because he said, "I trust you. But then I trusted Pep – and they're not all _my_ secrets, Steve."

Steve sighed inwardly, but kissed him anyway.

"Hey," Tony said, after giving them both a decent amount of time to enjoy the kiss. He tapped Steve's arms with his fists. "Let go. C'mon, Cappuccino. Sooner we get this done, sooner we can sleep." 

 

Steve slid his shield onto his back and followed Tony back to the now-deserted hangar. Creepily, Tony's flashy gold and red armour followed at their heels.

The two new aircraft had gone, but the big doors were open, and the tarmac outside was floodlit. A group of six people in red coveralls were standing waiting for them.

"Ready to go?" Tony asked.

A cocky-looking man, whose ginger hair clashed uncomfortably with the coveralls, grinned at him. "Just waiting for you, sir."

Tony looked about him. "You know this is voluntary, don't you? You could be flying into danger?"

One of the older men snorted. "We're test crew, To— Mr Stark. It can't be much more dangerous than flying your unknown tech for the first time."

"When do we start?" a slim African-American woman asked. Or was she African-American? That accent didn't originate in the US, but Steve couldn't place it.

"Okay. Let's hope you don't regret it. We're going to pick up a small group of scientists and their equipment. I have a fix on their location but right now they're on the run from a group of highly dangerous mercenaries. Luckily, they also have some equally dangerous protection."

"Such as?" the voice was Clint's.

"Thor himself," Steve said. He saw Tony take several deep breaths before turning to face the archer, who was suited up, bow in hand. The Black Widow stood beside him, her arms folded.

"You weren't thinking of having a reunion without us?" Clint asked, right eyebrow up. 

"It's a straightforward pickup," Tony said. "They've got a lot of scientific equipment on their truck, as well as Foster's scientific team, my driver and Thor. That's why we need both aircraft. Steve and I are going as insurance."

"Two aircraft, two teams, double the insurance," Natasha said. "If these new beauties can't handle another couple of bodies, they aren't going to be much use to us."

"Makes sense," Steve said, quickly forestalling the pending argument, and looking sternly at Tony, who shrugged, then turned and addressed the armour.

"Jarvis, bring round the stealth armour and load it in number 2. Barton, Romanoff, just follow the black armour when – ah, here it is now. You got comms in?"

"What do you take us for?"

"Sneaky super-spies," Tony said, beckoning to his armour to follow him. "C'mon, kids, let's get this show on the road." 

 

"Jan is going to murder us," Steve said softly to Tony as the Avenger jets raced southward through the pre-dawn dark.

Tony was well aware of that, but Jan had been taking too many chances recently – and she was completely untrained.

_So am I, really._

Ignoring that internal voice, he said, "But Hank is going to be grateful."

Steve pulled a face. "I'd rather face his anger than hers."

"That's because you don't really know him," Tony said dryly. "Though you're a super-soldier. So there's that."

"Sir, I hate to interrupt," Jarvis said, interrupting all the same. "There's an urgent call from Mr Hogan."

Steve gave Tony a sharp look. _"Happy?"_

Tony nodded. "He's driving the truck and it's his phone I have a lock on. And Thor knows him. Jarvis, put him through."

There was the sound of heavy breathing, then the familiar voice said: "Boss, boss, you there? Are you on your way? You haven't lost the signal?"

"Obviously not, as I'm talking to you," Tony replied. "We're on our way from Seattle to meet you—

"There's kind of a problem, boss," Happy interrupted. Despite the casual phrasing, his voice was harsh with tension and control. "We're off the road and under attack. Thor's holdin' them off an' stopping the truck goin' hood first down a gulley. We need Iron Man, boss."

"How far, Jarvis?"

"We're five minutes out."

"Anything else we ought to know, Hap?"

"Yeah. I came off the road because Dr Selvig wrenched the wheel round when he saw a big blue glowing circle right in the road in front of us."

"Whatever happens, don't go through it," Tony told him urgently. "Don't even get near it."

"That's what Dr Selvig says. And Thor. But we can't even see it right now."

"Hang on there, buddy. We're on our way. Hey, up front, take her all the way up to flank."

"You're lucky I used to be in the Navy," the redheaded pilot replied. "Opening her up."

"What's going on there?" Natasha's voice demanded.

"We have an Asgardian emergency. Stick on our tail."

On the horizon, the sky was bright with lightning.

"Looks like we're late to the party," Natasha's voice said over the comm.

"Nah. Just in time," Tony answered, as the armour closed around him. "Robbie, make one circuit, so we can drop, then go high and wait for my call."

"But if you ping any drones get out of there and fast," Steve said, as he picked up his shield.

"Yeah. Take evasive action and yell for help. Also, avoid flying into any teleportation portals." Iron Man held out his arm and Steve stepped into its circle, reaching for his handholds as Jarvis deployed the oxygen feed to close over his nose and mouth.

"Just a minute—" Clint's voice said.

"Hawkeye and Widow, the stealth armour will transport you down once we've assessed the situation. Jarvis will be piloting. A-Jet2, once they're out go high into a holding pattern and wait for my call. And don't crash into A-Jet1."

A force field glittered over the opening hatch. Iron Man and the Captain moved through it in unison. Steve hopped onto Iron Man's boot. The repulsors hummed, and then they were off into the dark.

Wind snatched at them but the Iron Man armour was more than equal to its power as they descended at speed into the storm. Rain clattered from the armour and from Cap's helmet, obscuring both vision and sound.

But Jarvis had a radar fix on the truck, and an intense thermal image in front of and just below it that was probably Thor. The AI was also targeting an even brighter energy reading that was almost certainly the transportation portal, just two hundred yards from the truck, and almost fifty warm bodies in the forest in the trees encircling the truck. They were, however, holding back, probably because of the lightning that danced about the truck. Resisting temptation, Tony also held back from wholesale slaughter. It would take too much explaining to the local cops.

A slight imbalance in the armour, automatically corrected by Jarvis, told Tony that Steve had leaped away and was now falling into the trees behind the presumably-armed livebodies.

That was Tony's cue: "A-Jet2 - relaying position of hostiles. Drop your passengers at the perimeter, then get the hell out of Dodge and resume previous position. Over."

"Acknowledged."

"Widow, Hawkeye, out you go. You'll be dropped behind the attackers. They only outnumber us about ten to one, so you should be fine. Outflank the bastards. Take your orders from Cap. He's already down."

"Acknowledged, Iron Man."

That was going to be particularly painful for the foot-soldiers down there. 

And if any of them should happen to get in a lucky shot – well, maybe the wholesale slaughter option would look a whole lot more attractive...

"Iron Man, we have non-humans here," Steve reported.

"Enhanced?" Natasha's voice asked.

"Alien," was Steve's response.

"Then stop worrying about leaving bodies," Tony ordered, "and stay safe, all three of you."

He headed for what he supposed was the truck.

And there it was, hanging over the vertical side of a gully. Thor stood below it, water rushing about his knees, supporting the front of the truck with his left hand while lightning leaped from the hammer in his right.

It was a feat that left Tony in awe. He went barrelling in, blasting with the repulsors to left and right, covering Thor as the hammer flew outwards, felling trees and bowling attackers aside.

"Welcome, Man of Iron! There are foes enough for both of us!" Thor called. "But I would welcome assistance with this vehicle."

"Gladly, forsooth!" Even as he spoke, Tony had his gauntleted hands under the front axle, feet on the ground and braced for what he knew was coming, locking the armour's joints.

Thor let go, leaving the Iron Man to take the whole weight of the truck, which rocked ominously forward. But Thor whirled with unbelievable speed, and both hands were suddenly braced besides Iron Man's halting the incipient forward movement of the vehicle. His head went down, his muscles flexing and he roared with the effort, almost as loudly as the Hulk would have done.

He pushed and so did Iron Man. The truck moved, inching back. They lifted it so the front wheels could fall back onto the earth behind the edge. 

The instant the truck was stable, Happy emerged at speed through the rear doors and the rain. Iron Man gave him a lift up to the driver's door, and told him to, "Wait until we've cleared the way for you, then reverse this thing into the road and head back the way you came. Stop after half a mile. I'm sending a jet down to pick up you, your passengers and gear."

"The truck—?

"We'll get rid of it. Thor will go with you for protection."

Thor grinned at him, the battle light in his eyes. "They will not want for it."

His last words were almost lost as the truck engine roared to life.

"Jarvis," Iron Man said as he rose into the air. "Plot me a path back to the road that I can repulsor clear of such inconveniences as trees, steering well away from the portal. And bring up the stealth suit to help."

"We are in a protected forest," Jarvis pointed out.

"Just do it."

"Plotted," Jarvis said, as the HUD lit up.

"Let's go Paul Bunyan some forest." 

_And if the enemy is in the way, so much the better._

With the Stealth suit at his side, Iron Man let loose with all the considerable power of the repulsors, throwing trees, scrub and rocks into the air. Thor's hammer hurtled past, taking out the biggest trees, while Jarvis changed tactics with the Stealth suit to clear the remains behind them.

Iron Man flung light down onto the track he was creating, and the truck followed its path, reversing as fast as the path become visible in its mirrors.

_Fuck it, I must stop underestimating Happy._

And then they were under fire. 

Iron Man's shoulder plates lifted, and spheres of repulsor energy scattered, honing in one by one on the sources of the energy beams and whatever stood behind them. The resulting explosions surprised him with their strength, though the Jericho, on which they were based, had been his most powerful weapon.

"Iron Man, confirming the hostiles definitely not human, repeat not human." That was Natasha.

"And they have something that looks like a variant on Chitauri weaponry," Hawkeye added, as a final explosion shook the world about them.

"Acknowledged," Iron Man replied to Hawkeye, but his mind was elsewhere.

_That wasn't one of mine._

"Cap, you still there?" he demanded on the end of the same breath.

"Yeah. All hunky-dory," Steve sounded harassed but at least he was alive. "Widow, do not, repeat not engage hand to hand. Once down, these... things... explode. Hawkeye, use long range weapons only."

"Are you hurt?" Tony demanded, overriding Widow and Hawkeye's acknowledgements.

"I'm fine. Watch your own back, Iron Man."

 

It was only thirty seconds later that Jarvis's voice rang over the comms: "Avengers, a large energy source has just appeared four hundred and twenty five yards, south south west, of the portal. It is rising into the air."

"I see it, Jarvis." That was Hawkeye. "Kinda flying tank."

It seemed like an ideal opportunity for a weapons test. "Hawkeye, remember those new explosive arrows I told you to be careful with. Now might be the time to use them."

"Way ahead of you, Stark." Hawkeye's chuckle was evil.

"Don't get too—"

The explosion put all the previous firecrackers to shame.

"Oh, wow..." Hawkeye's voice was pained and breathless. "You might have warned me."

"I did."

"What the hell was in that thing?"

"Something I once called the Jericho," Tony said, and he could hear the smirk in his own voice. "Think yourself honoured."

"What about the flying tank?" Cap's voice asked.

"Back on the ground and apparently crippled," Widow answered.

"No power readings," Jarvis reported. "Its energy source may have been disab—"

His voice overridden by explosion after explosion, the still-standing trees stark against the intermittent flares. Hot shock waves flecked with fire buffeted both armours and shook the still reversing truck. Only Thor seemed unaffected.

"I can't hear any of you." Steve was shouting, though he probably didn't realise it. "I hope to God that's just the racket. If you can hear me: the alien troops are exploding, whether they're dead or alive. Repeat: the enemy is self destructing."

_These were not the mercenaries we were looking for – or rather, expecting,_ Tony thought, with a touch of hysteria. _How many fucking enemies do we have, anyway?_

"Sir," Jarvis said urgently. "The vehicle was a diversion. Seven contacts, all reading baseline human, are making their way towards the portal." 

"I see them, Jay."

The truck, meanwhile, had swung backwards into the road, made its turn and was hurtling away from the portal, Thor following above it. A-Jet2 was circling high above as A-Jet1 began descending. His team were currently stationary but their heat signatures suggested they were alive at least. Jarvis was tracking the truck as it sped away down the road and relaying its co-ordinates to A-Jet1.

_I'm the only one who can make it._

Iron Man whirled and sped towards the bright contact that marked the portal. 

But there were other contacts, much closer than he was.

_Damn it, some of them at least are going to make it before me_

It was then that the HUD showed someone appearing out of the portal, causing a moment's hesitation on the part of the leader of the fleeing group, but only a moment before he continued on. Plainly, the newcomer was known to him.

Not to Tony, though, because the HUD contact looked more like War Machine than any of the other contacts.

Iron Man shot into the road, repulsors at the ready—

And he, too, hesitated for an instant, because the man standing beside the portal was clad in scale armour, with an open-faced helmet, a scabbarded sword at his side. The mercenaries were ignoring him but their leader turned, his gun coming up to point at Iron Man.

The sword was scabbarded no longer. A long blade flashed out, cutting right through the gun and bisecting the body of the man who held it. As head and shoulders toppled away from the clean cut, the lower half of the body collapsed. Iron Man's jets stopped him in his tracks, as he absently repulsored three of the men who were trying to rush past the warrior while he was busy with the others. Not that they lasted long.

The warrior nodded a greeting from the middle of a ring of bodies, then put the tip of the sword to the blood-soaked ground and leaned on it. His eyes, blue as a summer sky, fixed on Iron Man.

It was the man from the flying sail ship; Tony refrained from asking him where he was keeping Puff the Magic Dragon on the principle that, in the circumstances, he might just produce him. Instead, he raised the faceplate and the armour's force shields at the same moment so that the warrior could see his face without compromising his own safety.

"Who are you?" he asked instead.

The warrior flinched. "My lady's champion."

_You don't seem to be championing her interests right now,_ was Tony's thought. Instead of voicing it, he inclined his head towards the sword. "Some weapon. What's it made of?" 

"My lady says it is made of uru, and is the work of dwarvish smiths. Is your magic armour made of such metal?"

"Nope. Gold/titanium alloy but I'm negotiating vibranium. Thor's hammer is, apparently." Thor hadn't mentioned this titbit to the Avengers, but he had told Selvig, who had told SHIELD and Jarvis had dug it out of their databases. "I guess you're also an Asgardian?"

The blue eyes moved away. "I am astonished that you live," he said evasively, "but glad all the same."

"Why? Me living certainly won't please your Norn Queen girlfriend."

"You know who she is?" was the response, with appropriately raised eyebrows.

"Thor recognised her from the description. She found that stone yet?"

"If she had I could not be here."

"And you are here why?

The warrior's eyes shifted away from Tony's. "To make sure... to make sure Prince Thor is not hurt or captured."

"What's Thor to you?"

The eyes darkened. There was a storm in them. Tony was more and more convinced this man was Asgardian. "What right have to you ask?" he countered.

"I'm his friend and his comrade in arms," Tony said. "Are you?"

The warrior winced again, rubbing his face with his hands. His eyes avoided Tony's. "I know you are. As for myself, I do not know. I don't remember, but I knew, the moment I saw him on the television during the attack on New York, that I must protect him, just as I knew to be afraid of the one you all fought."

"Loki."

Again, the warrior flinched. "You should fear him. I do. So does my lady. Yet she has done his bidding."

"He's captive in Asgard," Tony told him. "Does he know you?"

"We have not met," the warrior said. "My lady has hidden— I need to get back before she returns and realises I am gone. I can use the portal—"

"Which will then blow up, yes?"

"If you wish it to. My lady Karnilla has taught me how to twist such things to my will."

"Can't you just close the door behind you as you leave?"

"Naturally." The warrior stepped back into the portal, which snapped shut.

"Well fuck me." Tony stared down at the invitingly intact mechanism which showed no signs of blowing up. "Let's get you to Uncle Erik and find out what makes you tick. Then we may go visit your creators."


End file.
